


Stories to Scare Children

by sasha_b



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Complete, M/M, ka fic: multi chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The knights follow through on what they think is a routine mission...which turns out to be anything but.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 2004 (WOW). My writing I have to hope is much better now, but I want to keep these things in a place I can see them easily. Feedback is love.

We arrived back at the Wall at dawn.

Deathly silent, the fort was woken by our clattering horsehoves, and the squires were ready to receive us by the time we got to the courtyard nearest the stables.

I slid from my horse messily, and removed my bedding and gear as fast as my trembling fingers would allow me to.

I began to stride off, when he called for me.

“Lancelot.”

I flung my reins at a young boy tending to my horse’s injured flank, and stalked away, not even looking at him.

The quiet of my rooms was looking quite inviting at present.

“Lancelot, wait!” came drifting to me. I ignored it, and the last things I heard before entering the main body of the fort were “Let him go, Arthur.”

Dagonet, of course. Forever the peacemaker.

Well, he would learn quickly enough that was a thankless role. I should know.

*

I practically tore my door off its hinges, and dropped my travel gear wherever it would land.

My gauntlets and breastplate made a satisfying ting sound against the stone, and I huffed out a breath, not bothering to remove my boots or heavy leather trousers.

That bastard. Bastard! What right had he to judge me? Of all people?

I know you best of anyone, Arthur. And you dare to question my judgement?

I hurled my bruised body into the high window of my room, a tiny space I had immediately used as a seat the second I saw it. Having to get used to Roman living, especially when one was so used to wagons and the sky overhead, was disconcerting at best.

Thus, window seat a la Sarmatian knight.

I closed my eyes, and waited. I knew it wouldn’t take long.

And it didn’t. Barely a half hour after we had arrived, the knock came at the door.

“What,” I yelled out, even though I knew who it was.

The door creaked, and I started as Dagonet’s bald head came into view.

“Nice way of answering,” he stated, in his plain voice. I gaped at him.

“What are you – “ I stared. I cleared my throat. “I mean, yes?”

“You’re requested in the great hall,” he said, and I sighed, tipping my head back.

“Tell him,” I said, then decided against the profanity I was about to use, “…I’ll be there.”

Dagonet nodded, and withdrew.

“Blast it,” I muttered, and pouted, even though there was no one to react to it.

I leaped down from the window, determined to take as long a time as possible getting there.

Tugging off my boots, I kicked off my pants, and pulled on some deerskin trousers that were a lot more comfortable. Shoving my feet back into my muddy riding boots, I hesitated, then added the lion pendant that was hidden inside my desk drawer. I tucked it under my shirt, and proceded through the door, slamming it unintentionally.

*

The others were already there when I entered the large room, which was dominated by one piece of furniture.

The round table.

In order for men to men, they must first be equal.

I frowned, and made my way to my normal place, next to Arthur. He tried to catch my eye, but I didn’t look at him, merely slinging myself into my seat, gulping some of the wine that was in a goblet there waiting for me.

Bors made a rude noise when I happened to glance at him, and I made an unkind gesture back. He laughed, and the others joined him. That broke the ice, and Arthur stood.

“Knights,” he started, as I knew he would, “Despite recent events, and some injuries, the garrison superiors have decided to give us a few days leave. I want each and every one of you to take three days, and relax. There have been too many mistakes as of late,” and he turned to give me a look, which I merely ignored, “and I think a break might be a balm for your minds as well as your bodies. I will keep you informed on the status of our injured comrades and any news about the incident that occurred. Three days, do you hear? And that is an order.”

The other men let out a huge cheer, and waved their hands. I merely sat there. A leave? Since when did any Roman care about the mental health of a group of Sarmatian conscripts?

Tristan was the only other one not smiling and talking. He was still, chewing on some bread, and staring first at Arthur, then at me. After a few minutes of this, I mouthed a snappy “what?” at him, and he shrugged. That damn man. Almost as infuriating as Arthur.

Our commander proceded to give us a few details in reference to the mission we’d just returned from – one which I didn’t care to hear repeated, and then dismissed us, telling us he was proud to be associated with such fine and noble knights as ourselves, and to please enjoy the few days off. He would be keeping in close contact with the garrison doctor, and would expect to see us bright and early on the morning of the fourth day.

He turned to me as the group broke up, and opened his mouth to speak. I brushed past him, and made my way to the south side of the wall, and the last place he’d think to look for me.

*

The little chapel was empty, as I’d expected. Not many people came here, a few of the Roman soldiers, and Arthur of course.

He’d had it built a few months back, and decorated on the outside with a garden lovely enough for me to realize it. Britain is an ugly place, but the flowers and plants they have here almost make up for it.

Heather and roses fought for space with evergreens and some type of oak, and as I walked down the path, past the little cememtary, I went over the events of the last few days. A massive fucking debacle, is what it actually was.

Villagers near Bodaciam had requested that we come and investigate some recent happenings around their township – a large number of animal mutilations had been ocurring, and the village elders were afraid that it was Woads sneaking south of the Wall.

Arthur was afraid that Merlin might be getting cocky, so out we went.

No Merlin, no Woads.

But plenty of dead animals and scared townspeople.

Arthur had stationed us at opposite ends of the village, him, myself, and Dagonet at one end, and Gawain, Galahad, and Tristan at the other. Bors led a larger group that stayed in the village itself.

We waited up for hours, and saw nothing. I had begun to get punchy by the time the moon rose fully, and had just grudgingly relegated the watch to Dagonet, when we had heard a distinctive rustling.

The moon was covered by a cloud at that precise moment, and the wind picked up, a strange mist rolling in with it.

“Lancelot! Dagonet!” I heard Arthur’s voice call, but for the life of me could not see him.

A sudden noise to my left, and I heard Arthur’s horse’s high pitched whinney. I drew my blades from my back, and crouched, ready for whatever was to come at us.

Unfortunately for me, I never saw it.

An arrow whizzed past my ear, and thunked into my horse’s flank, promptly making him rear, which in turn made his backend shove me into a tree, hard.

“Arthur! Damn it!” I yelled for our commander, but only heard the distinct ring of Excalibur as it was drawn from the sheath at Arthur’s side.

The mist crawled up my legs, cloying and choking. I began to cough, and managed to push my horse away from me.

“Dagonet? Arthur!” I shouted again, and jumped as another arrow sped past me. “Where are these things coming from?” I muttered to myself.

Something tackled my legs from behind, and I slammed forward, dropping my swords in order to save my teeth from being smashed into the ground.

Unfortunately, it didn’t save my head from smacking into a tree root.

I knew nothing until cold water hit me in the face from Arthur’s canteen. I sputtered, sitting up.

“What the bloody hell was that for?” I snarled, then looked up. Arthur was standing over me, a worried expression on his lined face. His eyebrows looked like one long line, they were so close together.

“What happened?” I asked. He shook his head, and Dagonet appeared behind him, silent and carrying my swords and his battle axe.

“We never saw anything,” Arthur answered. “We were ovecome within seconds – and you apparently were knocked out.”

“My horse was shot,” I said, grunting as I stood, accepting Arthur’s hand up. “He backed me into a tree.”

Looking around, I realized that the night was clear again, and there was no trace of mist.

“What – where did the mist go?” I asked. The stars were so visible it was as if you could reach up and pluck them from the sky.

“Don’t know,” Dagonet answered, “but there was something else in it.”

“Oh, gods,” I had groused, “Dagonet – please don’t start that whole devil ghosts thing.” I whistled for my horse, and a few moments later, he trotted up. I had petted him, and leaned down, checking his leg. One arrow still pierced it, and I steadied him, pulling it out quickly. He jerked, and made a high pitched noise of pain.

“Sorry, boy,” I murmured, and examined the thing.

Short, smallish. The hilt was feathered, but not with anything I recognized. The shaft also had runes carved into it.

“Armor piercing,” Arthur said from next to me, and I nodded.

“Not Roman. Not Woad either.”

I nodded again, turning the thing over in my hand.

He reached for it, and I huffed slightly when he took it. “What do you make of this, Dagonet?” he asked the other man.

“Not anything I’ve seen before. We should ask the villagers.”

They both gathered up their returning mounts, and got up into the saddle, with me still standing there, sulking.

“Coming?” Arthur asked me, and I snorted, then patted my horse’s nose. “I’ll have to walk – I want to spare him for the ride back to the wall.”

Arthur had held out his hand, and I rolled my eyes, but mounted up behind him anyway. No need to walk if I could ride.

We returned to the village, my horse trotting gamely behind us, and Dagonet went to recall the others.

By the time they had returned, Arthur and the elders were in deep discussion about the arrow and the ‘things’ we had encountered in the forest.

I stood for a while, watching, then moved over to where Dagonet was standing quietly, examining his battle axe for nicks.

“What do you really make of it?” I asked him under my breath.

He looked at me, and finally shrugged. “Not something you care to hear,” he answered simply, and went back to his axe.

I rounded on him, suddenly angry. What with Arthur taking the weapon away from me, and my foolishness in getting hit in the head, I was a trifle irritated.

“Dagonet – I am not a child. My horse was the one who was injured with the damn thing in the first place. Now tell me, what do you think?”

He cocked his head. “Ghosts. I told you. This island is full of ancient history, and ancient hurts. It’s not unheard of for things of that heavy emotion to take form.”

“Bah,” I spouted, knowing as well as he did the stories of our peoples and our childhood, “old tales from old women who had nothing better to do than scare children. I cannot believe Arthur would just take the thing from me.”

Dagonet shoved himself off the wall, and began to stride away. He turned once, saying, “Don’t behave like a child if you wish not to be treated as such.”

And he was off again, moving to where Arthur and the other were still talking.

I spat on the ground, and let my anger stew.

A few hours later, and I had been dozing off and on against the wall where Dagonet had left me. A gentle hand shook me, and I opened my eyes, yawning.

“What?” I said, my voice cracking from lack of usage. Arthur squatted next to me.

“It’s almost dawn, my friend. Time to return to the wall soon.”

“Do you have anything?” I asked him. He nodded once, then frowned. “Perhaps. The locals think this thing is Druidic.” He waved the arrow about.

“Druids? Here?” I laughed incredulously. “Arthur, they haven’t dared venture from the forests of the north for some time now. Lucky for them – supposedly they haven’t been any kind of force to be reckoned with for years. We could take them with hardly any fuss.”

Arthur shook his head, and stood, as I did. “You are sometimes so naïve it’s shocking, Lancelot.”

I bristled again with that comment. “And what do you mean by that?” I hissed dangerously. I was still in no mood to be trifled with, and Arthur had a way of pushing my buttons that worked every time.

“How long have you fought with me? And how many times have we easily triumphed?” he asked, his hands on his hips.

“Long enough,” I answered, “…and I can’t remember.”

“Exactly. There has never been a time when we knew precisely what to do, or were perfectly prepared. There will never be a time like that either. You will get yourself seriously hurt if you believe anyone is able to be taken easily. Never underestimate your enemy. Ever. The second you do, you will be dead.”

He turned from me, and made his way toward the other knights, who had begun showing up with their mounts ready.

Tristan had brought my horse, who had been taken care of by the townsfolk as best as he could be, and I stalked after Arthur, quickly getting up into the saddle.

“Knights – back to the wall. We will regroup, and make an informed decision on what to do next,” Arthur had commanded, and we had obeyed.

That night, pressing on, we had been riding single file, the moon bright and so cheerful as to make one annoyed.

And there it was, that strange rustling, and in two seconds we were all surrounded by the choking mist again.

I swore, and unsheathed my swords, the others doing the same from the sounds of metallic zings around me.

My panic rose when I couldn’t see Arthur, who had been straight in front of me. I am his second – it is my job to protect his back.

Aside from the fact that he is my closest friend, and I would die before I let something happen to him.

I had called for him, and receiving no answer, made for the back end of his horse, which I could barely see in the fog.

I stopped when I reached the animal, and paused for a moment, listening for any sound.

Things suddenly clawed at my legs, making my knees buckle. “Ow, damn it!” I yelled, and hacked at what felt like hands grasping my ankles.

I heard various screams from the immediate vicinity, and recognized Galahad’s voice. I struggled mightily against the hands, desire to help the youngest of us strong in me.

“Don’t panic, Galahad, I’m coming,” I shouted bravely. I was trying, at any rate.

The hands or whatever they were had climbed higher, and I could actually feel them inside my armor, which was slightly terrifying.

“What in the bloody hell is going on?” I screamed, trying to cut something with my blades…anything.

I couldn’t move. I felt like I was trapped in quicksand, and was rapidly losing my fight.

Something pried my swords out of my hands, and I twisted, desperate to get away.

A cool finger touched my cheek, and I let out a screech that sounded more like a wounded animal than a man.

I was shoved back against a tree trunk, and something materialized out of the mist in front of me.

I had to blink rapidly to clear my confused head, and still it was there.

“Wha,” I started, and it grinned. I screamed again, and it’s death cold fingers grasped the sides of my head, and slammed it backwards.

My skull met the tree with a mighty thunk, and I saw nothing but stars as I sunk to the ground, the sight of Arthur suddenly appearing through the mist possibly imagined.

Then I saw nothing but the insides of my own eyelids.

*

The sound of my own coughing was what woke me up.

“Gods damn it!” I yelled, and coughed some more. I was tired of waking up flat on my back, my head in pain. And no dead enemy to show for it.

Aside from the fact that I had actually screeched when that…whatever had touched me. Not very knightlike. Or even very manly.

I swore again, and stood. Then blanched.

I ran to the huddle of knights who were standing around Galahad, who was laying prone on Gawain’s knees.

“What happened?” I demanded, and Arthur turned to me. I hadn’t seen that angry of an expression on our commander’s face in a long time. It was frightening, and it in turn made me angry, in that I hadn’t been there to protect him from whatever turned his normal kind countenance into one of rage.

“We don’t know. The mist seperated us. All I heard was his scream,” Arthur said, flat and toneless. Oh, he was angry, all right.

I looked down at Galahad, who had a huge gash across his forehead, and was still bleeding profusely from a cut on his forearm. Gawain was trying to staunch it, but it was leaking still.

“Arthur,” I said, “let me ride ahead. See if I can’t find out what this thing is.”

Dagonet didn’t look up from where he kneeling next to the injured knight, but spoke. “Devil ghosts.”

“Dag,” I spat, “how many enemies have we fought who could melt in and out of shadows? The Woads are experts at it. There are no ghosts. You are simply taken with tales from our childhood. I saw it. It has a face…and hands. If it has those, I can fight it. Let me go, Arthur.”

Arthur was shaking his head, and I opened my mouth to argue with him. He beat me to it.

“No, Lancelot. I will not have any of my men alone. We don’t know what this thing is…Woad, Druid, ghost,” he had held up his hand when I made a pffft noise, “…whatever it is, it’s obviously dangerous. You stay here with us.”

I grumbled loudly, then had stalked away, my swords resheathed. That felt wrong.

This whole situation felt wrong. And no matter Arthur’s concern for our safety, I knew I was right. Someone had to find something out. We were only a day’s ride from the wall…I could find my way back there blindfolded. I wouldn’t be harmed.

Arthur was busy with Galahad and the others. He wouldn’t notice if I just slipped away.

So I did.

And had found…nothing.

Not one Woad, not one legion out for patrol. Not any ghosts, either, or any evidence that some strange enemy had been through this way.

The only things I found were signs that other riders had passed by, horse droppings and the remains of scattered campfires.

I also found that Arthur had noticed I’d gone, and got an earful when they caught up to me, almost all the way back to the garrison.

He actually had the gall to lecture me on safety in numbers. I had laughed in his face, and he had turned bright red, then turned on his heel, striding away, muttering about disrespect and misjudgement.

I didn’t even look at the son of a bitch until the meeting after we had arrived, and Arthur had given us the few days leave.

The chapel garden was quiet, and peaceful. The one or two monks we had around the fort had lit incense, and I could smell it vaguely as they had also left the door open.

The day was rapidly coming to a close, and what did I have to show for it? A bump on my forehead, an equally large one on the back of my head, and wounded pride.

I hadn’t even done my job correctly. Hadn’t protected Arthur, hadn’t helped Galahad, hadn’t found anything new out.

“Fuck,” I said angrily, and slumped onto a bench. I splayed my legs out in front of me, and contemplated my boots, which would be about ready for the trash heap soon.

Tapping my toes together, I went over the reasoning behind my slipping away from the group, and the validity of it.

I didn’t like having to disobey Arthur, but, damn it, the man had been wrong. Someone had needed to ride ahead, even if they hadn’t found anything.

I knew Dagonet really believed in those things. Devil Ghosts. He must have had one hell of an upbringing.

Me, on the other hand…no. Stories to scare little children into behaving. I hadn’t believed those tales from basically the time I could walk.

But, in as much as I had been right about our enemies abilities to melt away or disappear like magic, I knew that it hadn’t been Woads.

I had seen those things faces.

Or rather, lack of faces.

I shivered, and spun when the crunch of boots on the walk dragged me from the unpleasant memory of our attackers…and sighed when I saw who it was.

I rested my chin in my hand, and didn’t look at him when Arthur sat down next to me.

He had devested himself of his heavy field armor, and replaced his riding clothes for ones like mine. Excalibur still hung from it’s tooled scabbard at his side, where it always rested.

“Last place I expected to find you,” he said calmly. I nodded.

“That was the general idea,” I answered.

“Lancelot,” he sighed, staring at me. His eyes burned a hole in my shoulder, a feeling he was very adept at getting from me, and I finally turned my own to his.

“You sulk too much,” he finished finally. I gave him my best ‘who, me?’ look and cocked my head to the side. He had a new bruise across his cheek.

“Who did this?” I said, gently tracing it with my fingertip.

“Bors. He gets a bit rowdy when he and I ‘disagree’ sometimes.”

“Indeed. And what was he disagreeing about?”

“…you. He thought I shouldn’t have been so hard on you in front of the others.”

“Ah,” I said noncommittaly. “And what did you say?”

“I said that you were disobeying a direct order and had to be disciplined. Then he said you did what any one of you would have done, and then – well, you see the result.”

“Hmm,” I made a noise in my throat, and the corners of his mouth went down. “Lancelot – you have to understand – and I know you do after so many years. I can’t have my knights going off willy-nilly in direct disobediance to me. What if you had been hurt like Galahad? What if we couldn’t find you? And what did you discover? Tell me.”

I sighed, then mumbled.

“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“Blast it, Arthur, nothing, all right? But there was no way to know that for sure. What if I had found something? And I may still, if you’ll let me go out again.”

“You want to go out on your leave? You?”

I crossed my arms, and narrowed my eyes at him dangerously. “What does that mean?”

Arthur shook his head, backpeddling quickly. “Don’t misunderstand me. I mean, why would you want to spend what may well be your only time off for some time doing reconaissance work?”

I shrugged. “Call it curiosity. Call it doggedness, or pride. I can’t let something beat me twice and not even see its face, Arthur! You must let me do this.”

I didn’t mention I did see its face. Shuddering lightly, I turned to face him completely, knowing if I seemed open he might trust me more readily. Not that I had to use any tricks. The man would trust me with his life. And he should. He was my closest ally, and friend, and closest thing I had to a…partner in this world.

I wondered briefly if one day our closeness would transmute into something else. I was curious enough to try and stay around to find out.

Maybe after this – whatever it was, I could investigate this new line of thinking further. I swayed slightly closer to him, and shut my eyes, just feeling his presence.

And Arthur was the only man who wouldn’t laugh and ask me what the hell I was doing. He just sat there, and let me be.

At last, he put a hand on my arm, and I opened my lids, smiling.

“I will allow it. On one condition.”

I groaned, and rolled my eyes. “Very well, commander. What is this ‘condition’ you require?”

“I’m going with you.”

I started, shocked. “Arthur, for love of the gods, no! You never get any down time…please, for my sake, if not your own, take it.”

“You need backup, Lancelot. I don’t trust anyone else to watch out for you,” he said earnestly, then looked away, his cheeks turning pink. I raised an eyebrow. This was definitely getting interesting.

“Oh?” I said, turning on the charm full force. He laughed, cleared his throat, and moved away from me on the bench.

Eyeing me from his side of the cold marble, he said, “…and don’t try flirting with me. I know you too well.”

Damn it.

I sighed. “I appreciate the sentiment, Arthur, I do. But…you don’t take time off. I’ve seen you run so ragged your clothing hangs off you, and you have bags the size of Bors’ gut under your eyes. Please, Arthur,” I pleaded with him, putting a hand out, “take a rest. You deserve it.”

He squeezed my hand gently, then let go.

I felt slightly colder at the lack of touch, and wondered at my own sudden reaction to his presence.

“When do we leave?” he said, not looking at me.

“Commander,” I started, then broke off. I shook my head.

“Very well. Tomorrow at dawn.”

He stood, and smiled at me, touching his right fist to his left shoulder, the old Roman salute he only used for people he respected and cared for.

It was the first time he had done it to me, and horrifyingly, I felt a lump rise in my throat, and my eyes burn.

“Goodnight, Lancelot. Sleep well, friend,” and he turned, walking away quickly before I could say anything.

I stood, and watched him walk away, the long sword of his father swinging at his side, his step measured and sure.

What a burden he carried. Always. And how grateful I was to not be in his shoes.

And how much I realized I really did love him.

“Goodnight, brother,” I whispered, and made my own way to my rooms.

I had a feeling I was going to have a long night of contemplation ahead of me.


	2. Chapter 2

I was barely awake the next morning, stumbling about in the stables, when Arthur came bustling in.

 

“Anyone ever tell you how annoying your morning cheerfulness is?” I griped at him. He only smiled, and handed me a mug of spiced cider, which I took gratefully.

 

Sipping it, I sat on a pile of tack, closing my eyes. Arthur leaned against the wooden bar we used to tie our mounts to when we rubbed them down, and crossed his arms.

 

His voice floated to me out of my early morning fog. “Have a good night?”

 

I cursed under my breath, and drank more cider, opening my eyes.

 

“Yes,” was all I said, and he just smirked at me.

 

“Barmaids will talk,” he said, and I cursed again. His smile widened into a thing of shining white teeth.

 

“I do have a reputation to uphold,” I answered at last, holding my aching head. “Thank you for the drink.”

 

He nodded, then stood up straighter. Our horses were mostly ready, the thoughtful Jols having already loaded them up most of the way. Arthur threw a small pack bag at me, and I caught in my free hand, my eyebrow rising.

 

“Food – maps – and something you may find you are missing,” he said, turning to his horse, leading the white beast gently into the main ring of the stables.

 

I shook my head in confusion, then opened the bag, digging through the contents.

 

Pulling out my lion pendant, I slapped a hand to my neck, panicking when it wasn’t there.

 

“Where did you find it?” I asked him, standing myself. He mounted his animal, looking down at me.

 

“Barmaids will also pick your pocket if you’re not careful,” he said, then kicked the flanks of his horse. They rode out into the yard, the newly shining sun lighting Arthur’s hair with streaks of brown and gold.

 

He was always a sight to behold on that great white animal.

 

I fingered my pendant thoughfully. I was angry at myself for not realizing the stupid wench I had spent the night with had gotten my belongings, and I was also angry that Arthur was the one who had had to rescue it for me.

 

I was somewhat of a ladies man, yes; however, I knew how Arthur felt about such things, and tried for some misguided reason to keep most of it from him.

 

I blushed, and put the leather thong around my neck.

 

I drew my own horse into the yard, and mounted up.

 

*

 

We didn’t say much for the first half of the day, except to grunt and point in the general direction of where we were going, and we stopped once to water our horses.

 

Arthur studied his maps while we were waiting for the animals to rest, and at the expression of concentration on his face, I knew better than to try and talk to him.

 

As the sun made its way across the sky, we arrived at the closest village to Bodaciam, Tore, and pulled up as a young boy waved at us to stop.

 

“Commander!” he yelled at Arthur, seeing the red of Arthur’s cloak. “Our village leaders would be honored if you and your companion would pass the evening with us. We have the best boar in the area,” he boasted, and Arthur looked at me. I shrugged. One night out of the saddle would be fine with me.

 

“Tell your elders we are grateful for the offer, and accept.” The boy nodded, a smile on his face, and raced away, presumedly to tell the aforementioned leaders that they would have guests for dinner.

 

Arthur rode into the center of the small town, and I followed, at his back as ever. The place seemed like any other village in Britain, a few streets making the spokes of a wheel off the main round center.

 

We dismounted, and tied our horses to a post next to a burbling fountain. It was quiet, and a peaceful air pervaded the spot.

 

“Quiet,” Arthur commented, and I nodded. There were a few women about, some buying things at the market stalls, a few chasing children that ran amok, some of them goggling at Arthur and Excalibur, which would look huge to a child.

 

One of them pointed at me, and whispered to another child, who’s eyes popped at the sight of my blades. It wasn’t often villagers saw knights; it was even rarer to see the famous Artorius and his second with the two swords.

 

A few moments after we had dismounted, three older men made their way through the square and bowed to Arthur. He waved his hand; I knew he disliked such signs of authority, and smirked behind his back.

 

“Artorius Castus, welcome,” the first of them said, tugging on his long grey beard. Arthur inclined his head graciously. 

 

“We thank you for your hospitality. The road is an unwelcome place at night,” he said, and indicated me. “My second Lancelot and I are happy to receive your invitation.”

 

I tilted my own head at his words, and they glanced at me curiously. I grinned, and they looked away. Two swords, many scars. Not the most calming of images.

 

“Yes, well,” the first of the men said again, “I am called Seamus, and these are my brothers, Michael and Gabriel.” Arthur started at the names, and cocked an eyebrow. “You are Christians?” he asked, surprised.

 

“No, no, my lord,” Seamus laughed. “With eight sons in a family, it is easy to run out of interesting names. My father had read of your holy book and picked names he liked the best from it.”

 

“Ah,” Arthur said, relaxing. He rested his hand on the hilt of Excalibur, and smiled. “We would be most grateful for a place to rest before the evening meal,” he asked, and the men nodded in unison.

 

“Follow us, commander,” Seamus said; I wondered if he was the only one who could speak.

 

The other brothers were silent, and seemed fearful of strange things. I tried to smile in a reassuring way at one of them, and he scurried away to catch up with Seamus and Arthur. I shrugged, and followed.

 

Not much had been normal lately. I was just happy to have a little time away from the garrsion, with Arthur. Even if it was work.

 

Sighing, I trailed behind the others, slowing as I passed a tiny statue hidden in the corner of the square.

 

I stopped, looking at it.

 

It was many armed, and had a sneer on it’s face that rivaled any of mine. Swords held in three of it’s hands, I thought it a male diety until I noticed the breasts. I blinked, and looked again. She had a necklace around her throat, and I leaned closer.

 

It was decorated with human skulls.

 

Shaking my head, I hurried after Arthur, disturbed by the image.

 

*

 

The three brothers lead us to a small room over the kitchen of the only inn type place in the town. They apologized profusely for the size of it, and the presence of only one bed, but Arthur assured them we were just happy to have a roof over our heads. They scraped and bowed as they left, Arthur frowning at the display of acknowledgement of his position.

 

I laughed as the door shut, and he turned on me, crossing his arms over his chest. I sat on the small bed, barely big enough for a man and woman together on it, much less two soldiers, and began to pull off my boots.

 

“What is so funny, friend?” he asked crossely, but I noticed he had the sense to sit and take off his own boots and heavy armor.

 

We both made various grunting noises as we removed our outer shells, and at last I felt more like a human than a giant beetle as I dropped my right gauntlet onto the top of the pile of armor.

 

“You are so obvious in your dislike of any kind of ass kissing, Arthur,” I answered, falling over backward to land on the bed, sighing contentedly as the feather pillow poofed up and cradled my aching head.

 

“It is not necessary,” he threw at me, “I know I am in command; they don’t need to make special gestures to let me know they know it as well.”

 

“You will have to put up with it for a while, still,” I added, “we have a while left on our term of service.”

 

I closed my eyes, and almost immediately was drawn into a sleepy stupor, until images of that strange figure I had seen in the village square rose in my mind, making me shiver slightly.

 

“Cold?” Arthur asked. I nodded; actually, I was, now.

 

I sat up, rubbing the skin of my arms, making the long sleeves of my black linen tunic ride up and down.

 

“When did you get that?” Arthur said, pointing at a large purple welt on my left forearm. I sighed, and let the sleeve drop.

 

“Sparring. I let Dagonet get the upper hand. Never again, I can assure you of that,” I answered sheepishly, and Arthur guffawed quietly. I raised an eyebrow at him, and rose, standing next to him. I touched the fresh bruise on his cheek, courtesy of Bors, and Arthur’s misguided attempts to protect his descisions.

 

He only smiled, and bent to build up the little fire the inn’s owners had started for us.

 

“Arthur,” I started hesitantly, “what do you know of foreign gods?”

 

He stood back up, and moved to sit at the edge of the bed, rubbing his back and groaning.

 

I followed, and kneeled behind him, my hands on the muscles of his shoulders.

 

He shut his eyes, a small moan escaping as I began to work my fingers into the knots in his back, his head dropping forward onto his chest.

 

“Some,” came the muffled reply, “why?”

 

I thought of the wisdom that might be fleeing the room if I mentioned the statue I had seen.

 

“…no reason, really. I have some things to think on. When I decide what to ask you, I will.”

 

“That’s a strange comment, Lancelot. And a telling one, given the things that have been happening as of late,” he said, turning to face me. I forced his head back around, and continued my ministrations. The man had more knots than muscles.

 

“Don’t worry about it, Arthur,” I said lightly, keeping the vision of the strange diety in the back of my mind. “I’ll tell you when the time is right.”

 

“Yes, you will,” he mumbled, his big body loosening under my touch.

 

Never in my childhood, or subsequent years, did I have a friend like him. He was the only man I would ever willingly walk through the gates of Hell for. And that was saying something.

 

I finished my work on his back, and moved to lay down, suddenly exhausted myself.

 

Shutting my eyes, I smiled when I felt him curl up behind me, cupping his larger, warmer body around mine.

 

We slept, my dreams mixed with images of Arthur and that many armed, bloody goddess I had yet to discover the identity of.

 

Whatever strange things we had been set upon by in the days previous, I was suddenly sure they had something to do with the unnamed thing in the village square.

 

Come dinner that evening, I was also sure I would find out just who she was.

 

*

 

The smell of roasting boar is what woke me from my restless slumber, and I sat abruptly, scrubbing a hand over my face. My stomach rumbled, and a sleepy laugh came from behind me.

 

“I would assume you feel the same?” I said grumpily, standing experimentally. My body was creaky and sore, as I’m sure Arthur’s was as well.

 

“Indeed,” he answered, and rose, pulling on the boots he had lined up next to the bed. Ever the organizer. I found mine under my armor, and put them on.

 

He stretched, his shirt tugging upward as he did, and I stared at the long white scar that crossed his otherwise unmarred belly.

 

He noticed me doing it, and dropped his arms quickly.

 

“You told me it didn’t scar,” I said accusingly.

 

“I didn’t think it would,” he answered, turning his back on me, moving to put on his leather overtunic.

 

“Arthur,” I said quietly, “the last thing I would want you to have to remember me by is another mark on your body.”

 

“It was an accident, Lancelot,” he answered calmly. “And now look at your skill with the blades.”

 

I shook my head. “It wasn’t worth it. If I had known you would have ended up marked, I would never had made you teach me in the first place.”

 

He faced me, and finished lacing up his coat. Striding to me, he cupped my face in his palm, smiling.

 

“I shall remember you easily, scar or no. It is nothing.”

 

I cleared my throat, a tad uncomfortable at the closeness of his skin to mine. Things were changing between us; I didn’t know if he could feel it, but I could. A dangerous thing to be happening on the road, on a mission.

 

He dropped his hand, a knock on the door breaking the quiet between us.

 

“Enter,” he said, and one of the old brothers, Gabriel, stuck his trembling head in.

 

“Lord Castus, Lancelot. Dinner is served.”

 

“Arthur, please,” Arthur requested, and nodded. “We will be down momentarily.”

 

Gabriel shook his head once, and shut the door.

 

“Odd folk,” I said, and Arthur made a noncommittal noise.

 

Down to dinner we went.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: I did some reading on Kali, and I’m sure I didn’t get it exactly right. No harm or disrespect is ever meant. I really got the idea to use her image from Indiana Jones.

I stood outside, watching my breath mist as Arthur and the brothers spoke in the stuffy, cramped room we had eaten in.

 

I crossed my arms, and wondered for the umpteenth time about the statue, and it’s connection to the things that had attacked us twice in as many weeks.

 

How I was sure of the connection, well, that remained as big a mystery.

 

I was brought out of my contemplation by a muffled giggle.

 

Turning my head nonchalantly, I saw two young village girls, not much older than 14. Just the right age to be charmed.

 

“Ladies,” I said, tilting my head in my best imitation of the bows I had seen Arthur do in front of Roman guests. They giggled again, but didn’t run. That was a good sign.

 

I moved closer, swaggering a bit, and they blushed. I grinned and stopped in front of them, picking up both their hands, pressing a light kiss to the tops. I thought they would both faint from the shock of the act.

 

“I thank you and your village for your hospitality,” I said, smiling broadly. “’tis not often a simple knight is allowed such courtesy.”

 

They laughed again, the dark haired one putting a hand to her mouth, but the blond, who seemed to be more forward, spoke.

 

“Sir knight, we are honored by your presence,” she said, and her friend elbowed her, as if shocked she would dare to speak to one such as myself.

 

I cocked an eyebrow, and tried to look surprised. “Truly? I am humbled by your comments, lady…?”

 

“Anne, my lord, and this is Medea,” she answered, and dropped a pretty curtsey. 

 

“Medea? Like the famous Greek wife of Jason?” I said, and they both dimpled. “Yes!” Medea answered, before shyness got the better of her, and she covered her mouth again.

 

Ah, perfect. They would probably answer any question I had now.

 

“An auspicious name, lady. You wear it well,” I complimented, and again her face turned beet red. I took the opportunity to step closer to them, as if I would tell them a secret. They both leaned forward, unconciously.

 

“Listen, ladies, I have seen something in your village that I am curious about,” I started, smiling as much as possible. No fear, here.

 

“Oh?” Anne asked, intrigued herself.

 

“A small statue, about the height of a hare,” I said, holding my hands apart. “Of a goddess unknown to me. She has many arms, and a frightful necklace. Do you know of what I speak?”

 

At the mention of the many arms, both girls’ faces shuttered, and Anne frowned. I knew they knew what I was talking about.

 

“Ignore that, my lord,” she answered at last. “It belongs to a local madman. He refuses to put it away, no matter how many times he is told to get rid of the horrid thing.”

 

“So it is not Druidic?” I asked. The girls laughed.

 

“Oh, no, sir,” Medea spoke up finally. “It is from the far East.”

 

“The East?” I said, surprised. I had never seen any of it’s like in Sarmatia…although, those memories were so long ago, I could have forgotten.

 

“Yes, lord,” Anne answered. “That man has been in the village so long, no one knows where he truly comes from. He speaks our language, as well as many other tounges none of us understand. That deity,” and here she shuddered, “is horrible. We try not to pay attention to it.”

 

I nodded in agreeance. I could see how it would be horrible to young children. To me, it was fast losing its scariness, and quickly gaining in intrigue. It wasn’t often I was bested in a fight; it was even less often I was knocked unconscious – twice. I was determined to figure out what the hell was going on.

 

“A smart action, to be sure,” I soothed, then straightened. Arthur had exited the small inn, and was looking about, apparently for me.

 

“I must take my leave, ladies,” I said graciously, “but I thank you for your time, and your honesty.”

 

They both dropped small curtsies again, and smiled at me. I bowed low, and turned to go.

 

“Wait!” the one called Anne said after me. I turned, and put my hand over my heart, one corner of my mouth rising.

 

“Yes, my lady?” She smiled at the term, and stopped in front of me.

 

“Your name, kind sir?”

 

“Lancelot,” I said, “and a pleasure to have spoken with such a kind and beautiful woman.”

 

She cocked her eyebrow in answer, and I barked a laugh. This one had me pegged.

 

“Good night, Lancelot,” she said, and was gone in a flash of skirts and laughter.

 

I shook my head, and thought on what they had said.

 

The far East. And it was definitely a goddess. They hadn’t denied that.

 

“Lancelot.”

 

“Aye, commander?” I answered distractedly.

 

“You keep picking them younger and younger, hm?”

 

I laughed, and met his green gaze. “No, no. I was just getting some questions answered. Can I help it if all ladies find me irrestible, no matter their age?”

 

He rolled his eyes, and clapped me on the shoulder.

 

“Did you learn anything of interest?” he asked. I considered answering, but bit my tounge. I was going to make a little trip of my own this evening…without Arthur, if I could help it.

 

“Perhaps,” I answered hesitantly. I disliked not keeping him in the know, but this was my personal battle, and I was determined not to drag him into anything that would put him further into harm’s way.

 

“The brothers were not much more forthcoming,” he admitted, dropping his hand away from my shoulder. I surpressed a small shiver at the loss of it’s warmth.

 

I was rapidly becoming…addicted to him, and it was disconcerting at best. I wasn’t sure if he felt it, as well. I knew I would have to talk to him about it, and soon. I wasn’t one to shy away from relationships, or any kind of closeness I could get.

 

But Arthur was, well, Arthur. I would sooner die than hurt him, physically or mentally. He was my closest friend, and basically the reason I got up each morning to fight a battle that wasn’t mine to begin with. 

 

And the thing that bothered me most of all was – how much would it hurt to hear him say he didn’t feel the same? And how important was it to me that he did? Was I just after some closeness in our harsh lives? Had it been too long between women? I didn’t think so.

 

I gazed at him again while he wasn’t looking, and tried to understand just what it was about the man that drew me in. 

 

And I realized that it wasn’t one thing. It was the whole thing. The whole package. He was a good knight, a great leader, a cunning strategist, a loyal friend.

 

But he was also Arthur Castus underneath all those trappings of manhood and career. Just plain Arthur, my friend, who liked to read, who knew all sorts of myths and legends, who hated cabbage, who had a huge scar across his stomach thanks to yours truly, and who had an annoying yet endearing way of worming his way into your soul until you could no more lie to him than to yourself.

 

He made being himself what made you love him in the first place. Realizing this made me smile, and he looked at me.

 

“What?” he said softly, tilting his head.

 

“…I’ll tell you later,” I said, and sighed.

 

What have you gone and done now, you great lummox? And just how much of this love is present due to circumstance? Or do you truly feel it?

 

“You’ve been saying that quite a bit, lately,” he said, concern evident in his voice. He started walking again, slightly agitated.

 

“Lancelot,” he added, “have I offended you in some way? I know we had a – difference of opinion over the last mission,” he said, and I was quick to shake my head.

 

“No, Arthur, no. I am hot tempered, you know that. All is forgiven,” I was fast to reassure him. “…there are some things I’m trying to work out. That’s all.”

 

He looked at me, and I had to look away suddenly. His eyes had a very easy time of dragging confessions out of me in the best of situations; this was most assuredly not one of them.

 

He shrugged, giving in. 

 

A huge yawn split his face, and I followed suit.

 

“I’m going to check on the horses, then get as much rest as I can before tomorrow,” he stated. I nodded. “I’ll see you shortly, then.”

 

He turned about, and made his way toward the stables.

 

I shook my head in wonderment at my wreched timing. I would speak to him, I would.

 

Just maybe not tonight. Perhaps back at the wall.

 

*

 

The deity was still in her place when I arrived in the town square. In the dark, she looked even more foreboding. I was crouched down by her face, examing the necklace of skulls, when a foul stench and the sound of an opening door made me squint my eyes and look up.

 

I met the gaze of the oldest human being I had ever seen, and stood, unsure if I were to touch him, he would not break into a thousand pieces.

 

“Kali,” he said, and I drew my brows together in a frown, not sure what language he was speaking.

 

“…which is?” I said, my hand resting on the hilt of the short sword I wore at my waist.

 

“Her name,” he said, gesturing to the statue. “She is an incarnation of the mother goddess, who saved all the holy ones from two demons when the world was very young.”

 

“Indeed,” I answered, “then why is she wearing the heads of men around her neck? That to me says dangerous woman, not beauteous deity.”

 

He spat, and poked two forked fingers at me. “Do not disparage the goddess so, foreigner. You Sarmatians worship your own bloody gods and goddesses, so don’t speak to me of danger.”

 

How did he know…

 

“How did you know where I was from?” I said, my voice taking on a timbre of threat.

 

He pointed at my lion pendant, which had fallen out of my shirt. “Never seen anything like that out here in the West,” he said, and I quickly tucked it back in. “Besides, everyone around these parts knows Artorius Castus commands Sarmatians.”

 

“Are you a mage?” I asked suddenly, and he laughed, a rusty sound that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and my grip on my sword get tighter.

 

“Some would say so,” he replied, tugging on his long beard, “but I would say I’m just a simple man, trying to live to the end of his days with no incidents. You Sarmatians and that damn Roman cause enough trouble here. It’s about time the ‘Empire’ got out of this country. I only do what I can to further that ideal.”

 

I growled slightly at his calling Arthur ‘damn Roman,’ but kept my anger in check.

 

“What do you mean, you further the ideal? Are you setting warriors upon us?” If this man had any idea as to what was going on with the strange attacks, I would have the answer from him.

 

I pressed him up against the wall, my short sword drawn, my face inches from his. He laughed again, and I squinched my face, his breath strong enough to fell an ox.

 

“Me? Setting warriors upon such strong fellows such as yourselves? Never.” I moved away, and he dropped back down to his stooped position.

 

“Just be careful, young Sarmatian, about where your loyalties lie. The Empire’s strength is fading…and soon you may have no allies left. You never know who you may meet in the dark someday.”

 

I pulled back my lips, my teeth showing in a feral rage, but as I raised my blade to make short work of his life, a strange sensation pulled at my legs, and the fog rose about me quickly.

 

I jumped away from the door to his hovel, and pulled one of my other swords out of it’s sheath on my spine.

 

All I heard was the old man’s mocking laugh, swirling away with the mist as it slowly faded.

 

“Bloody hell,” I said, again picking up expressions I had heard Arthur use. “What by all that’s holy is going on?”

 

I waited until the weird fog had completely disappeared, and looked again at the statue.

 

Except it was gone.

 

*

 

Arthur was pacing the small room when I returned, slightly shaken, and extremely angry at myself for being taken the fool.

 

“Where did you go?” he said in a voice tight with rage and worry. I turned my back on him, and began to unstrap my various weaponry and armor pieces.

 

“On a personal errand,” I said, and sat, pulling off my boots. At last I was free of the cumbersome outer shells of my profession, and sighed, stretching luxuriously. Arthur was tense and unhappy; but for the moment, all I cared about was my wounded pride, and how the old man had gotten past me.

 

“How could you have a personal errand in a town we’ve never stopped in before?” he said through his teeth.

 

I shrugged. “That’s why it’s personal,” I answered cheekily, and lay down on the bed.

 

He stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists. At last he sighed as well, and sat in the one chair in the room.

 

“Lancelot…with all the strange things happening, I don’t like it when you disappear in unfamiliar territory without telling me where you are going,” he said tiredly. “I came with you purposefully to help find out what’s going on, not to hinder. I wish you’d let me.”

 

“Arthur,” I said, my hackles suddenly up, “I’m a grown man. I didn’t need you to come along on this trip, in fact, I think I told you straight out that I would prefer it if you actually took some time off. You just don’t like my ‘disappearing’ because it means I’m out of your control.”

 

I tried to bite off the last sentence, but the words came out. I winced inwardly as soon as I said them, and ached at the look on his face.

 

“I realize that, Lancelot,” he said after a pause, during which I wasn’t sure whether he would just leave without answering, or try and hit me.

 

“Aside from being your commander, I’m also your friend,” he added, his words sounding stilted and strange. Their tone made me feel even worse. It was not like Arthur to give in so quickly.

 

“I know,” I replied quietly, and sat up, moving to the edge of the bed so I could look into his face.

 

“But, Arthur, not everything we do is your responsibility. You cannot take the weight of every action, of every footstep I take just because you feel you need to watch out for men under your care,” I said gently, wrapping my hand around his wrist. I turned it over, and drew a finger down the middle of his palm slowly.

 

“You do a huge number of things with these,” I mused, still holding onto his hand. “And yet you cannot protect me or the others one hundred percent of the time. I thank the gods that you came into my life, because I know with certainty that if any other man had been my commander, I would be just another grave at the Badon Hill cememtary by now. I know it in my heart, Arthur. It is because of you I have lived as long as I have. And it is because of you, and your influence on me, that I shall live as long as fate decrees that I should. No matter if you are there to watch over me every step of the way or not. Your good heart and soul will always be with me, even if we are not physically together. Do you understand, my friend?”

 

Arthur just stared at me. I didn’t think we’d had a conversation this long without arguing in months, if not years.

 

“Well, don’t just gape at me, fool, say something,” I muttered at last, embarassed at my outburst. I wasn’t one for flowery speeches normally; I thought perhaps I had destroyed his logic center with my words.

 

He suddenly leant forward until his forehead met mine. The world shrank to nothing but his long dark lashes, and the grey green of his eyes.

 

“You constantly surprise me,” he whispered at last, his breath hot on my cheek.

 

“I live to amaze,” I answered, just as breathlessly.

 

He shut his eyes briefly, and I grinned. 

 

His hand still clasped in mine, I decided to take a chance, and follow my heart, if only for once.

 

I brushed my lips softly across his, and pulled back quickly, not wanting to scare him.

 

I didn’t honestly know what I would do if he rejected me…but I was strong. I would figure something out.

 

He sighed out a word that sounded like my name, and nuzzled his cheek across mine. Not the reaction I was expecting, but one that made my entire body suddenly as taut as a bow string.

 

“You .. don’t have to do this,” I murmured, gasping slightly as his hand sunk into my hair, playing with the curls at the nape of my neck.

 

“Shut up, Lancelot,” he said, and pulled back, looking me in the eye. “Just this time, do what I say.”

 

“Yes, commander,” I answered, and he tore a groan from my lips with the touch of his, extremely tentative, and yet just like him.

 

I did as he asked, and kept my words to myself, only opening my lips once to laugh as he tried unsucessfully to get my belt off.

 

“Let me,” I whispered, pushing his overeager hands away.

 

The rest of the night was spent mostly quietly, my mouth marking his shoulder several times in order to muffle the sound of my shouts.

 

We lay together, limbs atangle and my arm stuck somewhere beneath his head. I didn’t mind.

 

It was not what I had expected, but still just what I had wanted.

 

It wasn’t really about passion either, although there was plenty of that from both of us.

 

It was more comfort, more loyalty, more connection than anything.

 

It was an extension of us.

 

I knew when the sun broke through the morning mist, he might feel different; hell, even I might feel different.

 

But for the moment, I was content to listen to his soft breathing, and to feel the heat of his skin on my own.

 

“Let me take care of you,” I murmured to him, knowing he wouldn’t hear me. Because you’d never let me during waking hours.

 

“Arthur,” I sighed, and watched as he slept on.


	4. Chapter 4

I rolled over, and blindly put one of my hands out, meeting only sheets.

I cracked open an eye, and the sight of an empty bed met me. I scowled, and shut my eye again, scrubbing a hand across my face. I was tired, dirty and stubbly. And alone.

I had known that Arthur might feel differently during the day. I just hoped he wouldn’t. And how strong the actual event hit me was a surprise even to me.

I never lacked for company…and I certainly could have my choice of bed partners. But none of them ever left me first.

Plus – and this I hated to admit – this cut deep. Arthur was my partner, my closest friend, and now my lover. To have him leave me without saying anything – that really hurt. And I didn’t like being hurt.   
Not by one whom I trusted as implicitly as I did him.

Grumbling, I sat up, and was greeted with the sun shining directly into my face. Biting off a curse, I moved to the other side of the bed, still warm from Arthur’s presence. So he hadn’t been gone very long.  
I stood up, and cursed again when I stepped on one of my mailed gauntlets, which had somehow rolled to be right where I needed to step.

“Always this pleasant in the morning?” Arthur asked, the door opening and shutting quickly behind him.  
“You know I am not,” I retorted, happiness and some shock at seeing him easily hidden by early morning ire.

I sat abruptly, shoving all of my gear off the small stool it had been resting on.

“What time is it?” I asked. He handed me a cup of hot cider, which I swilled gratefully, and answered. “Only an hour after dawn. You did mention you wanted to get an early start on to Bodaciam.”  
“Indeed. And remind me to tell you next time to ignore anything I say about early anything,” I griped, and finally looked at him.

He looked tired, but settled. And that was a change from the usual.

The other change was the bruise under his jaw that showed purple and yellow, and might have been just the size of my mouth.

He flushed when he noticed what I was looking at.

“I’m sorry,” I said, not really sorry at all. “I sometimes get – overzealous.”

“As the many marks on my shoulders and back would attest,” he said wryly. I looked down at my own body, naked in the early morning light, and just as marked as his neck.

“It does go both ways, Arthur,” I said in a tone that matched his, and he flushed even brighter. I laughed gently, and stood, draining the cup of it’s drink.

“So – shall we?” I clapped my hands together, and began to dig through the pile of gear for my clothing.  
We dressed in comfortable silence, him finishing putting on his armor, and me everything.

Leaving the inn, Arthur stopped to thank the three brothers Seamus, Gabriel and Michael. I stood behind him, contemplating the place in the light.

For a British inn, the place had a lot of foreign knick knacks and décor.

Short swords, shields, and tapestry hung as they would in any small town, however, none of it looked even vaguely British.

In fact, it looked more Sarmatian. I knew that it was not, but it had the same tone as things from my homeland.

Except it was too big a coincidence that this place would have that kind of decoration, and just happen to have a village magus that worshipped deities resembling the things in the small inn.

The brothers wished us godspeed, and Arthur smiled at the use of the Christian blessing. I merely rolled my eyes, and mounted my horse, which a few small boys had brought around to the inn for us.  
I waited until Arthur was mounted as well, then whistled to my bay.

He was more than ready to leave…as was I.

*

The road to Bodaciam was short, and empty of most people. We saw a few villagers and traveling merchants, but not as many as would be expected on a day in which it wasn’t actually snowing or raining.

I debated with myself the whole way whether or not I should tell Arthur finally about the goddess, and made a bargain I would tell him on the way back to the wall.

I was being cowardly, I knew, but I didn’t want to make him worry any more than he had to – or get him angry at me for not telling him earlier. Our ride was companionable and uneventful, a gift I was fully aware of, considering he could be acting strange or aloof in reaction to the new development in our relationship.

About an hour after leaving Tore, we began to see the smoke, and smell the burning flesh.

Anyone who had ever fought in any kind of battle knew that smell all too well.

We spurred our horses on at a gallop, and I almost ran my bay into Arthur’s white stallion when he pulled up short at the edge of the village.

It was a wasted inferno.

No wonder we hadn’t seen anyone going in this direction.

“God,” Arthur shivered out, horrified. He crossed himself on his forehead, something I had only seen the few Christians at the wall do in their chapel. For my part, I shut my eyes, and thanked my own gods we had decided to stay at Tore the night before. Otherwise, I might be staring at Arthur’s burnt out corpse today instead of villagers I didn’t know.

“What happened?” I asked, not expecting an answer.

Arthur merely pointed, and I started, swearing.

The fountain in the center of the square was decimated, broken and torn. But what we didn’t expect to see was the large amount of dead people heaped on it, and the river of blood that had drained from them to the ground around it.

I swallowed back the sudden rush of bile, and urged my horse up next to his, meeting his eyes.  
“Arthur,” I said quietly, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

*

Arthur paced, and I sat, my head in my hands, tired of his shouting.

Our horses were tethered to a nearby tree, and we sat about a quarter of a leauge away from Bodaciam.  
Upwind.

“I cannot believe you didn’t tell me about this,” he said for the millionth time, and I stood at last, popping my back, my patience gone.

“Arthur, for pity’s sake, if you say that one more time, I may have to cut my own head off to stop my insanity,” I retorted, and marched to him, standing inches in front of him.

We were both breathing hard, sweating. I could swear steam was issuing from his nose.

“I wanted to handle it myself,” I said through clenched teeth, “you don’t need anything else to worry about.”

“That’s why I’m here, Lancelot,” he said, his normal even tone rising again, “to help you. God, man! We should have taken the magus prisoner – or at least interrogated him.”

“I told you, I tried, Arthur! He tricked me with some spell,” I spat, angry that he thought I wouldn’t have known to do just that. “I’m no green recruit; I know my duty.”

I spun away from him, and stomped over to my horse, mounting it.

“Let’s go,” I said, “we can reach the wall by midnight if we ride now.”

He grumbled something about him being the commander, but followed my lead, and untethered his stallion.  
We broke immediately into a furious gallop, headed for the wall, and reinforcements.

*

I was right, and we did arrive at midnight.

Exhausted, road weary, and smelling of horse and charred flesh, we clattered into the courtyard.

“Blast,” Arthur said, raking a hand through his sweaty hair. “The others are still on leave. I must call them back by emergency.”

“They only have one more day, Arthur,” I snapped, “surely we can give them that.”

“And let an entire village of Britons and Romans go unprotected and unburied?” he snapped back. “I can’t believe you’d even suggest that, Lancelot.”

“And what would you do? Force the legionnaires to go with you? Do you really think Lucius Scipio would loan you his men – even for such a short mission? Really, Arthur, you haven’t been paying attention to garrison politics.”

His legendary control broke, and he slammed me up against the stable wall, the squires and various men about studiously ignoring us.

“Go. To the bathhouse,” he gritted through his jumping jaw muscles. “You stink.”

“And you smell of roses,” I said sweetly back to him, smiling my best arrogant smile, which I knew would anger him to no end.

He snorted two hot breaths on my face, then whirled, gone in a flash of road musk and red cloak.

I let my tired knees relax, and I sunk to the floor, the smirk wiped off my face.

Only he could get my anger to rise so. And only I could make his rear its ugly head as well.

I garbled out a few Sarmatian curses, and stood, my own smell wafting after me.

I took his advice, and after dropping my armor and gear with one of the various garrison pages who assured me it would be placed in my quarters, I headed for the south side of the garrison, where the new chapel and the bathhouse lay.

*

The Romans employed numerous slaves to man their baths, but I dismissed them, taking the strigil and sponge in my own hands.

I could scrape myself clean. I didn’t need some stranger to help me.

I sighed as I kicked off my boots, then quickly stripped off my tunic and trousers. One discreet slave picked up my clothing, and left me with a set of garrison issue army garments, there for men who hadn’t brought anything else with them. I figured they could burn my clothing. I certainly wasn’t going to use it again – it’s almost impossible to get the smell of fire out of fabric. Especially when it reeked of burnt flesh.

I shivered as I poured oil on myself, then began to methodically use the scraper the Romans favored to get most of the grime off.

The heat of the steam room and the feeling of the wood on my flesh calmed my rampant temper somewhat, and soon I was almost asleep on my feet.

Then the image of that damn Kali statue reared forth in my mind, and I hissed involuntarily as my guilt came with it.

Arthur was the true master of guilt; but I came a close second.

I stumbled slightly, and jerked as a warm hand rested on my shoulder.

Arthur took the strigil out of my hand, and turned me around, making me sit on the wooden bench provided in the room.

I groaned as he used the thing on me, most of the tension that had been there making my back cramp again.

“Relax,” he murmured, and I laughed.

“Funny coming from you,” I said lightly, but knew also when to keep my mouth shut.

So I did, and let him finish purging the road muck from my body.

He pushed me toward the baths, and I sunk in, making a little ‘meep’ noise as the water hit my skin.  
I shut my eyes, but after a moment, cracked one surreptitiously open, to see what he was doing.  
He quickly made use of the oil and wooden stick himself, and joined me in the large tiled tub.

We said nothing, merely soaking and breathing.

“I checked on Galahad,” he said softly at last. “His forehead is better, and his arm has been stitched. Gawain stayed behind, to care for him.”

I nodded, glad, but not wanting to break the moment of relative peace between us.

“Lancelot,” he added a minute later. I opened my eyes, and he was staring at me. I winced inwardly.

“Arthur. Put away the guilt, if only because I ask it,” I said, moving through the stinging hot water to get closer to him. “If it was anyone’s fault, it was mine. I should have said something earlier.”  
He nodded, but I could see he didn’t believe me.

“Sero in periculis est consilium quaerere,” I sighed, and his eyes snapped wide, a look of incredulaty on his face.

“You don’t speak Latin,” he said almost accusatorily. I smiled faintly.

“Only a few phrases I thought might impress someone someday,” I replied.

“Advice _does_ come too late when the danger is already there,” he answered, and the lines I was getting too used to seeing on his face reappeared between his brows.

I reached up a hand, unable to stop myself, and ran a light finger over that spot, trying to smooth the lines.

He let out a small breath then, and slumped his shoulders. I moved my hand to his cheek, and he looked at me, the pain in those green depths enough to almost undo me.

“We will figure this out, Arthur,” I told him calmly. “As soon as the others are here. We are the best and fiercest fighters around. We will avenge them. I swear it.”

“What would I do without you?” he said in answer, solemnly.

“Live a long and sanity filled life?” I answered, only somewhat joking.

He shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting a tad. That made me happy.

“We should sleep while we still can,” he remarked, and as reluctant as I was to leave his side and the hypnotizing baths, I agreed.

We rose, drying off and dressing quickly, Arthur laughing only once when he saw my red military dress. I scowled, and he quickly covered his mouth with his hand.

*

We walked in comfortable silence down the barracks hallway, his door coming before mine.

I made to say farewell, and turned to go on.

“Lancelot,” he said, his voice stilted and far away. I turned back, sorrow etched on my face to hear a tone like that from him.

“Stay with me.”

I cocked my head, unsure I had heard him correctly.

“Stay.”

He said it again, and I nodded. Any strength I could provide for him, I would be glad to do so.  
And if I drew my own strength from his arms and good person, well, he didn’t need to know that.

He tugged me into the room, shutting the door behind us.


	5. Chapter 5

The following day went quickly, Arthur spending most of it discussing strategy with Lucius Scipio, a bald, portly man, who had never risen higher than Legionary commander. I was sure he was a bastard partly because of that.

 

He was also a bastard just because his power dictated that he could be. Arthur must have the patience of one of his Christian saints to put up with the man, much less to discuss reports and tactics with him.

 

I spent the time practicing my weaponry skills, hacking a practice pole to bits with my blades. I whirled them in an arc, the fading light shining off them. I smiled; in the beginning of our term here no one had thought anyone could use two blades in battle. They had all insisted I was just trying to be the showoff that I was.

 

I proved them wrong.

 

The short Spanish swords I carried now had been purchased from a market dealer in Londinium – the farthest I had ever been from the wall.

 

I would never forget that trip. Apart from the sheer overwhelmingness of the city, I had gotten myself and Galahad lost.

 

Oh, we had still had fun, and I would never have found the dealer from whom I bought my blades, but for a while there, I had been terrified that I would never see my friends again.

 

More to the point, I had been terrified that I would never see Arthur again.

 

And in that moment, my twenty year old self had realized that as much as I missed home, and as stupid as I thought defending a remote outpost like Britain was, I would keep on doing it.

 

I would make it for fifteen years for him.

 

I would follow Arthur through the gates of Hades. Would I be happy about it?

 

No.

 

But I would do it regardless. He was a true man among idiots. Romans were mostly arrogant fools; not capable or caring to get to know the men in their service.

 

Arthur Castus was something I never thought I’d see outside of Sarmatia.

 

He was honorable.

 

What I saw in his eyes when Galahad and I had finally reappeared at the end of that confusing day in the city was something I’ll never forget.

 

Fear. Anger. Relief.

 

And overall, love.

 

He had berated us for hours afterwards, all the way to our campsite on the trip back to the wall.

 

But as I had sat sulking, he had snuck up on me, and pulled my new blades from their sheaths across my back, sitting to admire them.

 

“Fate is a funny thing, Lancelot,” he had said. “You’d do well to remember that.”

 

I hadn’t really understood him then. But now, remembering his actions on our recent mission, his concern only for his men; his kindness in coming with me on my own personal quest, and his darkening eyes as we had loved one another, I was certain I did understand him now.

 

As I was making my way to the tavern, having sharpened my blades and and taken care of my armor, I ran smack into Dagonet, who was exiting the stables.

 

“Dag, my boy,” I said to him, trying to make my voice sound companionable. He merely raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, which made his muscles stick out ridiculously. By the gods, the man was more a mountain than a human.

 

I made a pfffft noise, then got back to the matter at hand.

 

“Listen, I need to speak with you,” I said, lowering my request as a few serving wenches walked by. They waved at me, and I winked, then turned back to the other man.

 

“Indeed,” he intoned, “Can I get some sustenance first? Or is this matter timely?”

 

“No, no,” I replied, wanting to be generous. “I’ll join you. I was just heading there myself.”

 

He sighed, then nodded. I knew the man wasn’t one for lots of company, but my questions were too important to be put off for too long.

 

We seated ourselves at a small table, and I waved at one of the barmaids for stew and drink. She dropped an exaggerated curtsey and went to get the food.

 

I turned back to Dagonet, who was eyeing me with somewhat of a strained air.

 

“Are there any whose beds you haven’t warmed?” he asked. I showed my teeth, and leaned back against the wooden wall.

 

“A knight never tells, Dag. If you knew that, perhaps you’d have more company.”

 

He merely stared at me, and I sighed.

 

The food arrived, and I squeezed the hip of the young woman who brought it. She whirled, and pinched my arse before I could say anything. Then she was gone in a flounce of skirts and hair.

 

Dagonet actually laughed. I grumbled something about wenches and their manners, and took a huge gulp of my wine.

 

“Where is Arthur?” he asked. 

 

“Probably still wasting time with that ass, Lucius Scipio,” I grated out, still angry that I hadn’t seen our commander all day. I was slightly worried; he had been tellingly silent the previous night, only using his voice once in calling out my name during the midst of lovemaking, which had been a pleasure to be sure, but odd when he hadn’t said much else afterward.

 

“Oh? Another raid being ordered?”

 

“No,” I answered, and proceeded to fill the other knight in on what exactly Arthur and I had found at Bodaciam, dead bodies and all. I didn’t mention the statue. I was waiting until I had him relaxed and willing to talk first for that.

 

“Trust you, Lancelot, to find a trail of blood and murder whilst on vacation,” a new voice said, and a blond, disheveled man joined us, towing with him a sullen, dark haired one.

 

“Ah, Gawain and Galahad,” I said, running a hand over my rumpled tunic. “How nice to see you out of your quarters.”

 

Galahad blushed, while Gawain had the presence of mind to glare at me. “Galahad has just been released from the medicus’ care,” he told me in a grand tone, “no thanks to you.”

 

I narrowed my eyes dangerously, as Galahad rolled his eyes. “And what does that mean?”

 

“Gawain, leave it,” the younger man said, but Gawain shook his hand off.

 

“You didn’t get to him in time,” the blond said, and grabbed my forearm in an unbreakable grip. “I relied on you to protect him. You were closest to him. And now look at him!”

 

He made a sweeping gesture that encompassed Galahad’s bruised forehead and stitched arm.

 

I winced inside, but smiled at Gawain; it was actually more of a baring of fangs than a friendly grin.

 

“Had I not been a tad bit preoccupied by trying to keep my own arse alive, I would have been there. I called to him; Galahad, didn’t you hear me call your name?”

 

The dark haired knight nodded, saying “I did hear you, Lancelot. And I don’t blame you, unlike some,” he added, tossing a look of annoyance at Gawain, “but don’t be angry at him for it. He’s only being overprotective, as usual.”

 

“Bah,” Gawain spat, and dug into his own food as the same waitress placed some before him and Galahad. I scooted a little away from her unconsciously, and the ghost of a smile appeared on Dagonet’s lips.

 

“Shying away from wenches, Lancelot?” Gawain said, through a mouthful of stew. I tried to ignore him.

 

“Have your beloved Arthur’s teachings on Christian behavior finally gotten through that thick skull of yours?”

 

“Tread lightly, my friend,” I said, my jaw muscles bunching and twitching. “I can show you later just how ‘Christian’ my fighting can be, if you so choose.”

 

“Knights,” came another voice, “I’d ask that you don’t discuss me or my religion in my earshot without including me in it, all right?”

 

Galahad blushed slightly, and Gawain mumbled out an apology.

 

I merely stared at our commander; he looked terrible.

 

“Well, Lancelot? Are you going to move over, or do I have to sit on the floor?”

 

I slid my rear end over next to Dag, and allowed Arthur to sit.

 

“Arthur,” Dagonet said, “Lancelot told us what you discovered. Do you have any idea what did this?”

 

Arthur dropped his head, and shrugged his shoulders. I could almost smell the anxiety coming off him, and I slipped a hand under the table, squeezing his fingers gently.

 

The corner of his mouth rose without looking at me, and he squeezed back before letting go.

 

“Unfortunately, no. Lancelot encountered what we think was a magus,” he said, and I hemmed and hawwed just a bit, not forgetting the argument about the man Arthur and I had had, “but he managed to get away. Did Lancelot ask you about the deity?”

 

Oh, gods. Arthur, Arthur. No tact.

 

I bounced a hand down on the table to distract them. Gawain and Galahad jumped, Gawain almost choking on a mouthfull of stew. He glared at me, then at Galahad, who was trying not to laugh at him.

 

Arthur looked at me, raising an eyebrow. “Yes? Do you have something to add?”

 

“Arthur,” I started, trying to keep the whine out of my voice, “Don’t you think we might talk about this later – when the others aren’t so tired?” My voice rose in pitch until I sounded like an annoying child.

 

“…if you say so,” he answered, puzzled. My eyes promised him I would explain later.

 

Arthur’s food arrived, and we all finished eating in relative silence.

 

The two G’s rose, blond G determined to get younger G back to bed. I smirked at this, and Gawain threw me a look that said this isn’t over. I just opened my eyes widely, all innocence, and they left, Galahad hauling Gawain away.

 

“Lancelot. Explain,” Arthur said. I took a deep draught off my goblet, and belched unexpectedly. Arthur rolled his eyes; Dag just stared.

 

“I really think the less people that know about this, the better,” I said, and Arthur’s brows came together. 

 

“Lancelot, we have no secrets here. You know that.”

 

“This isn’t a secret, Arthur,” I clarified. “Dag is the only one who knows anything about foreign gods; I didn’t see the reason in putting the others through something they really didn’t need to hear.”

 

Arthur shifted his gaze to Dagonet, who cocked his head in concurance. Arthur sighed, and yielded the floor to me.

 

I took Dagonet through the whole thing, from us arriving at Tore, the strange decorations in the inn and the weird non-christian brothers with the christian names, the Kali statue, and the magus.

 

I described the statue in detail, and when I was finished, I took another pull off my drink, my throat raw from speaking.

 

“Well?” I queried after a silence from the big knight.

 

“I’m thinking, little man,” he said at last. I snorted, and got up to get us all more libations.

 

I was going to need more drink if I was going to be able to put up with Dagonet’s cryptic act all night.

 

*

 

After mine and Arthur’s third game of dice, and as many cups of wine, Dagonet spoke.

 

“You said the magus called her Kali?”

 

“Yes, Dagonet,” I said with more than a little impatience. “Many arms, many swords, many dead men’s heads…really large breasts, come to think of it,” I mused tipsily, and giggled to myself. Arthur removed the wine goblet from my hands.

 

“The only deity that I know of like that is called Kai-ili,” he added. “She’s a representation of the mother goddess of the cow worshipers. They have some type of myth that tells the story of how their gods were taken prisoner by two demons, and Kai-ili was the goddess that rescued them all by killing the demons. She’s said to be strong, and compassionate, but merciless when faced with enemies of her devotees.”

 

He thought more, tilting his head to the side. He looked almost like a statue of the Greek’s boy god Cupid, and I told him so, laughing. He ignored me.

 

“No sense of humor,” I groused, but was silenced by Arthur’s hand on my neck, squeezing just a tad too tightly to be comfortable.

 

“I haven’t run across any worshipers of Kali outside of Sarmatia,” he continued, “but this island is known for it’s varied religions. Remember the arrow we found? The one that injured your mount, Lancelot?”

 

I did, and said so.

 

“Now that I’ve heard your story, I don’t think it was Druidic at all. I think it might be a creation of this magus, perhaps made to look Druidic. Have you mananged to find anyone to translate the runes on it, Arthur?”

 

Arthur shook his head. “Strangely, no. And there are some here who can read the rune marks.”

 

“Then that’s probably it. It sounds as if this old man has something in for Romans, and is using his goddess and the fear of Druids to get it done.”

 

“But all the dead animals…and the dead people,” I said, still a little muzzy, but not drunk enough that I couldn’t put two and two together. “What would the purpose of that be? So many innoncents – they weren’t just Roman citizens. They were Britons as well. What could he want?”

 

Dagonet shook his head. “If I tell you what I think he’s doing, you won’t believe me.”

 

Arthur leaned forward, while I crossed my arms behind my head. “What, Dagonet?” Arthur asked him, deadly serious.

 

“He’s using the animals and the people for blood sacrifices. To power up the goddess.”

 

Arthur stared, and I burst out a laugh.

 

“Dag,” I said as Arthur frowned at me, “really now. Magic goddesses? You know Arthur and his Christian beliefs won’t take any stock in that. And in as much as I have participated in the rituals of our country, I don’t follow the horse goddess or Mithras or any of the soldier’s deities. The only things I believe in are the things in front of my face – and the things I can make bleed.”

 

“How can you explain the mist? Us getting separated? You being beaten – twice?”

 

I stopped laughing, and put my hands on my thighs.

 

And how could explain that thing I saw in said mist? The hackles on my neck rose so quickly I couldn’t surpress a shudder.

 

“There are things, Lancelot, bigger things in this world than you or I. How can any of us claim to understand the workings of any one power?”

 

I popped my eyes wide at Arthur, not believing that those words had come from his mouth.

 

“I am hearing right?” I said, jiggling my finger in my ear. “Did Artorius Castus just admit something might be unexplainable by the might of his God?”

 

Arthur narrowed his eyes, and I snapped my mouth shut; somedays, I wondered why I didn’t just wear a sign that said, ‘Warning: insensitive lout.’

 

“I’m sor-“ I got out, before he turned his back on me, and spoke to Dag.

 

I felt the heat rise in my face, and tensed my shoulders. Damn it, Lancelot, you great bloody fool.

 

I stood stiffly as they finished their conversation, and at last Arthur turned to me as Dagonet escaped from us, probably happy to have a few moments alone.

 

How the man was as close friends with Bors as he was, I’ll never know.

 

Arthur’s grey green eyes were clouded, and the look on his face was enough to deflate any feelings of trying to defend myself and the stupid comment I had made.

 

“Arthur,” I placated, my hand out. He interrupted me.

 

“We will take a patrol of Lucius Scipio’s men and our unit with us in the morning to Tore, and will retreive this magus. Be ready to leave at dawn.”

 

He nodded awkwardly to me, and turned on his heel, making his way to the garrison proper and the knight’s quarters.

 

I called out after him, but he kept going.

 

Stupid, bloody great fool.

 

I knew how sensitive Arthur was about his religion. It was the one thing he really didn’t like to argue about. He never pressed it on any of us; in fact, he tried to keep it a quiet part of his life.

 

I had asked him once why he didn’t try to convert us, like some of the other commanders had.

 

He had merely answered that to find God, one must want to find Him.

 

He would occasionally come to the round table or the tavern smelling of incense, and I would know where he had been.

 

But if praying on his knees in the cold little chapel afforded him so peace, who was I to argue with that?

 

The man had a hard life. I wouldn’t be the one to object to his ways.

 

I sat back down, anger and embarassment warring on my face.

 

I signalled to the barmaid who had pinched me earlier, and she sashayed over with another mug of wine. I took the tankard from her, and pulled her down into my lap, and she giggled, her hand resting on my neck.

 

I found that it was too warm, and too smooth.

 

But I didn’t say anything. Instead, I spent the better part of the evening drinking, then a few moments up against the wall of the stables with the willing maid.

 

She stumbled away afterwards, happily satiated, planting a large wet kiss on my lips before making her way back to the tavern.

 

I pulled a piece of straw out of my hair, and stared at it.

 

What a piece of work. Lancelot, king of discretion.

 

I snorted at my introspection, and slowly began the walk back to my quarters, which I knew would be disheveled, empty, and dark.

 

I stopped as I passed Arthur’s door; there was still light shining from beneath it, and I held out my hand, hesitating.

 

A moment; and I let my hand drop without knocking.

 

I looked around, and noticed a leather coated bench across the hall from his rooms.

 

I settled myself on it, and lay down, watching the reflection of fire on the stone floor underneath his door.

 

The smell of lamp oil wafted out, mixed with that of myrrh.

 

I closed my eyes, and slept, only ten feet from the place I desperately wanted to be.


	6. Chapter 6

I jerked awake at the sound of bare feet making that slight slapping sound they do on stone floors.

 

“What?” I said, rocketing from dead slumber to sitting upright with my small dagger held in my hand in under two seconds.

 

No one ever said I wasn’t a good soldier.

 

“What are you doing out here?”

 

“Sleeping, or rather, I was,” I replied, grumbling, resheathing my knife in its holster in my boot.

 

The garrison around us was soundly quiet, the only noise coming softly from the torches in the wall sconces.

 

I shivered at the draft that blew through the old place, and Arthur sighed, offering me a hand. I took it, if only just to touch him momentarily.

 

“Come inside,” he commanded, and I obeyed.

 

*

 

His room was dim, but warm. It smelled vaguely of incense, and the particular oil that the Romans use to light their lamps.

 

“Arthur, I’m truly so-“

 

“Leave it, Lancelot,” he cut me off. “I know your feelings on my religion well. I just didn’t expect you to be that callous about them.”

 

“Arthur, you great idiot, I’m trying to apologize if you’d just let me finish,” I snapped, frustrated and angry at myself, and at him for being so bullheaded. He knew me, therefore I would hope he’d know I would never intentionally hurt him.

 

He whirled around, his eyes dark and his body taut with tension.

 

“I’m the idiot? I’m the idiot that goes off on his own and tries to look for trouble to get into? I’m the one who taunts people to the point of them killing me? I’m the one who-“

 

“Yes, yes, I see your point,” I retorted, stepping to stand in front of him. We had a knack of making each other angry to the point of shouting and heavy breathing quite often.

 

“I realize the comment was in poor taste. I am sorry for it. But Arthur, for the love of the gods, you have to give me a chance here. You know I care for you. You know I’d never hurt you on purpose. And if you don’t…well then, you are an idiot.”

 

He pulled his lips back from his teeth, and suddenly we were against his wall, his trembling body pinning mine, his forearm under my throat. I laughed, although not so easily.

 

“God help me from killing you myself, Lancelot,” he gritted out. I just grinned, and rolled my hips to touch his.

 

That definitely distracted him.

 

“You wouldn’t do that – it would mean you weren’t so perfectly good after all.”

 

He actually growled at me.

 

I pushed him off, because he allowed me to, and stalked to the drink service he had in the corner.

 

Taking up the goblet of half drunken wine he had left there, I swallowed the rest of it, my face heating and my body betraying me by wanting nothing more than to run to his arms.

 

“Is that how you think of me – like some perfect avenging Roman braggart?”

 

I shut my eyes; the pain in his quiet voice was more than I cared to take.

 

I cursed under my breath, and turned to face him. He was sitting at his desk, outwardly calm, but I knew him too well to not understand the hunch of his shoulders or the tightness in his hands.

 

“Gods, Arthur. No, no. Never. But, give me a little credit, yes? I’m not so dumb I can’t see what your religion does to you. It eats away at you, day after day. Each time you come back from … that place,” I jerked a thumb toward the window, in the direction of the chapel, “you are remorseful, and quiet, and hurting. And I don’t like it. I don’t want to see you like that. You don’t deserve it. You are the center of most of these knight’s worlds,” I said as I crossed to kneel in front of him, taking his hand and smoothing out the knots he had worked his fingers into.

 

“I don’t understand why your god demands this type of obedience and servitude – and I know that you don’t need to feel the way you do when you come back from there. You are a good man, Arthur. A good man. True, and honest, and my friend. I am not a bad judge of character,” I added smugly, and a small smile decorated his stubbled and worried face, “so I know of what I speak.”

 

“What a strange and unfortunate place for finding such love,” he murmured, and it was my turn to smile. 

 

“It is the only place we have for now, Arthur. So accept it and honor it, and that will be enough for me.”

 

I bit my lip as he sat silent, contemplating his hands in mine.

 

He looked up at last, and I swallowed past a suddenly thick throat at the sight of his wet eyes.

 

He looked to the window, and sighed, threading his fingers through mine at last.

 

“We have a few hours til dawn,” he whispered. “Will you stay with me?”

 

“You only have to ask, Arthur. Anytime.”

 

He surprised me by not doing anything but laying in the circle of my arms, our foreheads together, his eyes shut, his breathing a little ragged.

 

I petted and soothed as best I could, allowing him time to let the exhaustion and confusion slip out in the guise of tears.

 

I murmured nonsensical words to him as he clutched at me, my hands in his hair, on his back, wound around his fingers.

 

I had only seen Arthur like that one other time. That weak, that hopeless, that open.

 

It was frightening, to say the least.

 

Not that I didn’t want him to feel; by all means no. But to see him behaving so unlike himself…this must have been the way he was after his family died.

 

“Arthur, Arthur,” I crooned his name, and he settled into me, his breathing finally slowing, his chest moving with the slow rhythm of sleep.

 

I held him until the dawn broke, troubled and disquieted.

 

Had I done this? Had I forced a line of thinking on him that made him doubt himself?

 

I would sooner eat glass.

 

And I thought not. We had had a similar conversation earlier that week, in Tore, the first time he and I had…

 

I forced my mind from that pleasant memory, and concentrated on just him.

 

Something was going on – and it wasn’t just his relationship in all its incarnations with me.

 

Perhaps on the road, I’d have a chance to pick his brain.

 

Oh yes. And perhaps goats might fly. Arthur could see through any ruse I ever tried to sneak past him.

 

I would have to come up with a really good plan this time.

 

*

 

I buckled my light weight breastplate on over the shirt of chainmail I had borrowed from one of the infantry men who was getting out of the service for good in a few days. I didn’t think he’d mind if I didn’t return it.

 

Arthur had been distant and silent when we had woken, and he had not spoken of his disquieting behavior at all, as much as I tried to get him to talk about it.

 

Something was going on with him, and I was not going to take his ignoring me for an answer.

 

Nevertheless, he seemed his normal self when he rode up, ready to leave, his own armor in place, Excalibur resting in its sheath at his side.

 

Gawain and Galahad were staying behind, Galahad still healing, Gawain ostensibly to look after him.

 

So Dagonet, Bors, myself, Arthur, and five men from Decimus’ infantry division, who looked rather funny on horseback, rode out an hour after dawn.

 

Arthur rode beside me for a while, his brows drawn together, his eyes half shuttered. I knew better than to try and breech that particular wall.

 

At last we reined in for a brief cool down period for the horses, and to let the poor foot soldiers rest their aching arses after having ridden for way longer than they were used to.

 

They all groaned as they tried to move their stiff legs and bodies, and I supressed a smirk at the sight of one of them rubbing his backside with his hand.

 

I had been there; albeit many years before.

 

I pulled an apple down from the low hanging branch of a tree that rested beside the small river we had been following, and bit into it, watching as Dagonet and Bors walked their horses and talked.

 

Or rather, Bors talked, and Dagonet merely nodded.

 

Interesting pair.

 

They both came from offshoots of the same tribe, so they had more in common than some of us. I shook my head, and ate my lunch. Sometimes simple and pleasant sounded really rather wonderful in comparison to the – whatever it was I had with Arthur.

 

And the physical relationship was only part of it. That was new; but not surprising. We were always close. To me, it just seemed an added bonus to our connection.

 

It had nothing to do with preferring men over women. I just prefered Arthur over anyone else I had known. Period. There was no one like him.

 

He had been a handful from the moment we first sparred. Strong, compassionate, yet overly forgiving. He had confused me from the get go, but his attitude and good heart had also sucked me immediately.

 

Any other commander would have scoffed at the sad little group of Sarmatian brats sent to the wall to be trained. Arthur had taken one look at us, and jumped right in. Without him, who knows where we would be now?

 

I shook off my melancholia and watched Arthur study the small map of Tore and the surrounding areas, while the others either walked their mounts or rested their bodies.

 

I stood, and walked to him, looking over his shoulder as I finished off my apple.

 

“Any ideas?” I asked, and he raised an eyebrow, then sighed.

 

“I wish I had some. The only thing to do now is to make it to Tore, and find that magus. Snap him up and hustle him back to the wall before anything else strange can happen.”

 

“Arthur,” I started hesitantly, “you know it may not be him doing this. It may just be Woads, or possibly yes, even Druids. I have to doubt any kind of ‘magical’ doings here.”

 

“I’m not saying any kind of fantasy is involved, Lancelot,” Arthur answered, a bit sharply. “But I must investigate all angles, and this seems the most likely one. Wouldn’t you agree?”

 

I nodded my head reluctantly. He was right. The man did need to at least be questioned.

 

“So let’s go,” he said, and whistled to the other men. I laughed as the infantry men hoisted themselves back on their mounts, and just winked when they scowled at me.

 

“Boys,” I said as we broke into a trot, “now you know why no one wants to be in the calvary.”

 

Arthur rolled his eyes heavenwards, and I laughed again as we sped up.

 

*

 

We arrived at Tore near dusk, the journey having taken a little bit longer than normal due to the slower soldiers riding with us. By the time we got there, Arthur’s face was pinched and my knuckles were white with anticipation.

 

The moment we rode into the square I knew something was wrong.

 

No sound was heard, no horses, or people, or market stalls were about.

 

“Damn it,” Arthur swore under his breath, and I knew it was serious for him to use the name of his god in vain.

 

“Seamus!” he called the name of one of the three brothers we had met loudly. I waited, sweat trickling down my back and flies buzzing about my head.

 

Nothing.

 

I dismounted, drawing one sword from the double sheaths on my back. Arthur got off his horse as well, and called to Bors and Dagonet, who rode up.

 

“Something’s not right,” he told them. “You each take the men, split them up, and search for villagers. Lancelot and I will find this magus, and meet you back here.”

 

They nodded, and dismounted, calling the infantry men over to them.

 

Arthur and I made our way across the square, and down the small alley where I had seen the Kali statue and the strange old man.

 

The statue was nowhere in sight, as last time, but I had no problem finding the door of the old man’s hovel.

 

Arthur and I looked at each other, and he stepped forward, bringing Excalibur up and beating on the door with the hilt.

 

“Open up!” he shouted, and I waited, ready to spring any second, my grip on my sword tight and painful.

 

When no answer was forthcoming, he shifted his eyes to look at me, and I raised my blade, knocking with it as he had done.

 

“Come on, old man,” I bellowed, hiding the fear in my voice well, “open the door. We know you’re here.”

 

“Blast it,” Arthur muttered, and backed up. He motioned me away from the door, and I moved, allowing him to do what he was going to because he was larger than me.

 

I was confidant in the knowledge that I was a better hand to hand fighter, so my pride stayed intact for the moment.

 

He raised his booted foot, and launched it at the wooden door, which gave in with a crash almost immediately.

 

We both gagged and choked, covering our faces with our gauntleted hands.

 

“What is that stench?” I said, eyes watering.

 

“I’m not sure I want to find out,” Arthur answered, but grimly pushed on, his sword held in one hand, one of mine in my own as well.

 

We made our way inside, the darkness of the place added to by the fact the windows were covered by linen cloth.

 

Arthur ripped one down to allow light in, and we both gasped, unable to hold in the reaction.

 

Bones, dried body parts, strange bits of herbs, things I couldn’t identify everywhere.

 

Arthur crossed himself, and I swore in my native tongue as we stared about us.

 

“Jesu, what is this?” he whispered, and I just stood frozen, trying to process everything in the room.

 

In the center of the place, a massive stone table rested, and a replica of the statue I had seen took up most of the top of it.

 

I would guess the more correct thing to say would be the statue I had seen was a replica of this one.

 

It was huge; rising at least five feet over the table, and spreading about three feet across, not including the multiple arms, each one holding a sword, which gleamed in the dim light.

 

They were real swords.

 

Oh gods.

 

I got a hold of myself, and marched to the altar, examining the necklace of skulls around the deity’s neck.

 

“Arthur,” I breathed, and he followed me.

 

I pointed at the heads, and he made a gagging noise, but valiantly did nothing more than that.

 

The swords weren’t the only things that were real.

 

Some of the skulls were still rotting, and Arthur slowly reached out a hand to touch one, some of the flesh dropping off it as he did so.

 

I coughed dryly, my stomach roiling and tossing.

 

“Lancelot,” he hissed out, “what sort of evil is this?”

 

“Ask Dagonet,” I answered, my throat closing against the smell. “I wouldn’t even hazard a guess.”

 

We both backed away from the horrible sight, and stopped a few feet away from it.

 

“We must search the rest of the house,” he said suddenly, I shut my eyes, knowing he would say that.

 

“As you say,” was all I could muster.

 

We went methodically from room to room. Lucky for us, the place was small and only contained a tiny kitchen area and the magus’ sleeping quarters, which were strangely bare of anything save one musty cloak and a pallet on the floor.

 

We didn’t find the statue I had seen, but we found belongings and things that couldn’t have been the old man’s, unless he liked collecting girl’s dolls and Roman trinkets.

 

“I’ve seen these before,” Arthur said, holding up a pair of discs that sparkled gold in the spare sunlight that filtered into the dusty room.

 

“And they are?” I asked.

 

“Earrings. From one of the Greek isles,” he answered, examining them closely. “Do you remember the senator that rode through the garrison with his family a few weeks ago?”

 

Did I ever. The man had been an arrogant ass, pompus and whinging and awful to his wife and young daughter. It went to prove to me again that just because you have power, doesn’t mean you have to show it every moment.

 

“Yes,” I replied, not wanting to voice my opinion on that subject just then.

 

“They belonged to his wife. She was wearing them.”

 

“Arthur,” I stated, “are you sure? Killing a Roman noble is a serious business in these parts. Especially killing and stealing.”

 

He was nodding even as I said it. “I remember her wearing them, because I commented on them. She told me they had been purchased in Greece, for her birthday,” he mused, still looking at the things.

 

It was always hard to investigate a murder; it was even harder when you were connected somehow.

 

“Arthur, I’m sorry,” I told him sincerely, “but we should probably meet with the others.”

 

He nodded again absently, and pocketed the jewelry.

 

We made one more sweep, trying to avoid the disgusting Kali statue. My eyes kept drifting to it, however. It was like a particularly messy battle; you couldn’t look away.

 

I noticed something out of the corner of my eye, and sidled up to the altar, Arthur still looking over the dusty bookshelves by the broken door.

 

Arrows littered the base of the statue, partially hidden by a large woven cloth that draped over the half naked stone woman.

 

I picked one up, examining it. It was identical to the arrow that had pierced my horse’s flank a few days ago.

 

“Well, we know who provided the arrows in the attack, at any rate,” I said, and returned to Arthur’s side, showing him the thing.

 

He plucked it from my hands, and turned it over, studying it.

 

He made a hmmmm noise, and tucked it into the top of his boot.

 

“Let’s get out of here, Arthur,” I said, tugging at his tunic sleeve. “I feel as if I need a bath.”

 

“You do need a bath,” he answered, still looking at the bookshelf. “That has nothing to do with this place.”

 

I gaped at him. “Did you just make a joke?”

 

One corner of his mouth curled up, and he looked at me at last. He pushed me out of the open door, which lay on it’s side, testiment to the weakness of the wood, or the strength of Arthur’s leg.

 

Carrying the earrings and arrow, we made our way back to the center of town, where Dagonet and Bors and the infantry men were waiting.

 

“A bloody mess,” Bors said as we walked up. “Nothing to see but dead chickens and dust.”

 

“That’s not all we found,” Arthur said, and proceded to fill them in on everything.

 

Bors spat on the ground, and the soldiers alternated between crossing themselves and staring at Arthur pop eyed, as if he had made the whole thing up.

 

Dagonet simply nodded, and crossed his arms.

 

Arthur held up the earrings, and described the senator and his family.

 

Bors started, and held up his hand.

 

“Were they in a litter, Arthur?” he asked. Arthur concured.

 

“Then you need to see something,” Bors added, and strode off. We followed quickly.

 

Behind one of the houses at the end of the main street, a broken litter and braces for a team of oxen or horses sat on it’s own.

 

Arthur’s face went alternately red, then white.

 

I moved to him in alarm. “Arthur?” I whispered, grabbing his arm.

 

He shook me off, and walked around the thing, picking up bits and pieces from the broken wood.

 

“Knights,” he said after a moment.

 

“We ride for the wall. Now.”

 

“Arthur, what –“ I started, but he just walked faster.

 

Bors and Dag got the legionaries mounted up, and we followed, wheeling our horses around as fast as we could in the small space.

 

“Arthur,” I yelled as I raced to catch him, “What’s the hurry? What’s going on?”

 

“Just ride, Lancelot. Ride fast.”

 

And he spurred his horse into a gallop. I could only pursue him. The questions fighting to break their way out of my mouth would have to wait until we got back.

 

I could only hope it wasn’t something worse that what had already happened.


	7. Chapter 7

We rode at a breakneck pace for the roughly half a day it took it to get back to the wall.

 

We didn’t speak; we simply rode, not wanting to waste the energy it took just to pull in the air necessary to ride at that speed.

 

“Fuck!” I heard Arthur shout as we rode up the crest of the small hill outside of the garrison, and we plunged headlong through the little cemetary, past the chapel, and up to the wide open gates.

 

The smell of smoke was in the air, and thick clouds of the greasy stuff were coming from the armory. The whole garrison was blanketed in that horrifyingly brackish fog, and I swore myself.

 

“Lancelot!” was the next thing out of his mouth, and I nodded, racing on my mount around him and through the gates, shouting for Gawain or Galahad or any of the others.

 

When I reached the courtyard, I swung my leg over my horse and slid from his back in one smooth move, drawing my blades and running toward the stables and the practice yard.

 

A great commotion was heard from behind the stables, and Gawain’s back suddenly came into view, his pike and hair flying around him in wild circles.

 

The damned mist was chasing him. I hissed in a breath, and launched myself toward him and the unseen assailant.

 

Just at that moment, the sun chose to set for the day, and I swallowed heavily.

 

On the plains of my childhood home, the night was a time to be inside your wagon or hut. It would be so dark that you couldn’t make out your friends right in front of you, until they smiled and you saw the whiteness of their teeth.

 

The stars would light the sky, however, and at least make it bearable, if not enchanting for a child.

 

We normally got the same effect with the stars here in Britain – made much dimmer by the amount of fires running at the garrison.

 

So the moment the sun set, I expected to be able to adjust, and then perhaps have a chance to overtake this opponent at last.

 

I was transported back to Sarmatia right then. Black as pitch. Except this time, no stars.

 

None. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

 

“Gawain!” I shouted, and he yelled back to me. “Lancelot! Over here – ow! Get off me!”

 

I moved toward the sound, desperate to actually be of some help this time, when something wrapped around my ankles. The jolt of stopping so suddenly knocked me to the ground again, my teeth clacking painfully together.

 

I didn’t lose my hold on my swords this time.

 

“Bastard!” I ground out, and flipped over onto my back, crossing my arms and holding my blades out in front of my face, ready to deflect any blow.

 

None came, but a hot wind and stinking, choking stench filled my nostrils and head.

 

I gagged and coughed, but didn’t alter my stance.

 

Suddenly, the mist spoke.

 

I couldn’t understand any of its words, but I knew they were angry ones by the tone of its voice.

 

I kicked my legs violently, almost losing a boot in the process, and managed to get one foot free.

 

Thrashing out with it, I got lucky and connected with something solid, and grinned when whatever it was made a grunting noise of surprise and pain.

 

Ah, ecstasy. I had actually inflicted some damage.

 

Taking advantage of the whatever it was’ distraction, I slipped my other leg free from the now slack binding on it, and kicked up to a standing position, whipping my swords around in arcs in my hands, daring anyone to come close to them.

 

“Gawain!” I bellowed again, and was knocked flat again when he barreled into me from behind.

 

“For fuck’s sake,” I shouted, “I’ve had it with being this friendly with the ground!” I jumped back up, and he was right there, looking around wildly, sweat running into his eyes.

 

“Where’s Arthur?” he asked in a fierce whisper, both of us moving to stand back to back as the fog crept around us. It was still black as pitch, except now, the air had taken on a strange red cast.

 

“I don’t know. He was behind me until we saw the smoke from the armory. He’s probably there.”

 

“Then that’s where we should go,” he said, and I nodded in assent, not liking the fact I had been seperated from our commander for this long.

 

We made our way slowly through the soupy stuff, ears listening, eyes roving about, but seeing and hearing nothing.

 

“It’s as if the thing just – vanished,” he said quietly, and I agreed.

 

“What happened here?” I asked him as we got closer to the slowly smoldering armory building.

 

“I don’t know,” Gawain answered, shrugging, “one moment we were all in the practice yard, the next, this bizarre mist was around us, and I couldn’t see more than half a foot in front of my face. That’s when I smelled the smoke.”

 

We reached the armory, which had burned itself out, the wood scorched away to reveal the inside and our weapons cache.

 

“Bloody hell,” I whispered, and stepped throught the smoking ruin.

 

Almost all of the supplies were either ransacked, or melted beyond recognition. Some of the larger weapons, such as some of Dag’s huge axes, and the one trebuchet we had access to, were missing.

 

“Not good,” Gawain said behind me, and I cocked an eyebrow.

 

“Truly?”

 

I returned to the outside, and waved a hand in front of my face as I made the short trip around the burnt hulk, trying to part the mist to be able to see.

 

No Arthur.

 

“Arthur! Arthur, where are you? Blast!” I shouted for him until I was hoarse, but still no answer.

 

“He’s not here, Lancelot,” Gawain stated, and I sighed in disgust.

 

“Yes, I can see that,” I answered, “although not very well.”

 

Both of us jumped as the ricochet of metal clanging on metal was heard from near the edge of the battlements.

 

I met his eyes, and together we ran toward the sound.

 

*

 

As we rounded the corner nearest the armory, we both pulled up short at the sight that met our eyes.

 

Arthur, Excalibur flashing in his grip, fighting the old magus from Tore. Except, he didn’t look so old to me.

 

And he was coated head to feet in blood. It ran into his eyes, decorated his hair, made the long black robe he was wearing look crimson.

 

He was also wielding two curved scimitars which looked for the world like the ones that the Kali statue had been holding.

 

Gawain whispered a Sarmatian swear word under his breath as I adopted Arthur’s favorite, “Jesu.”

 

Suddenly Bors, Dagonet, Galahad and Tristan appeared behind us, and they stopped as well to take in the sight.

 

“What in the – “ Bors started, and I shook my head.

 

“Don’t know. Don’t care. Arthur’s in danger – we need to get to him now.”

 

They actually all nodded in agreeance for once. I directed Galahad and Gawain to make for Arthur’s back, Dagonet and Tristan to take up their bows to try and take down the magus, or demon as he looked now, and Bors to come with me.

 

Tristan was already moving even as I asked for him to.

 

The mist was emminating from the former old man. Shapes came flying out of the air around him, ghostly things that disappated the second they were formed.

 

“Lancelot,” Bors huffed as he followed me to the stairs that lead up to the battlements from the opposite side, “what’s your plan?”

 

“Knock the bastard down. Kill him. Help Arthur,” I said between great gulps of breath. Bors laughed like a maniac and replied, “Almost as good as one of mine.”

 

I knew the others were as worried as I was because they actually did as I asked, and didn’t question me giving orders. That fact made me even more panicked.

 

We fought our way through the mist, passing either dead or unconscious infantry men on the way.

 

Each one had a mark on his forehead, a symbol that sort of resembled a Christian cross, but tilted on its side.

 

“He’s cursed them,” I shouted, and Bors spat. 

 

“That thing is going to feel the edge of my blade, and fast,” he gritted out.

 

I just kept running.

 

Arthur, Arthur, Arthur beat through me like a chant as I ran. I had to get to him. If anything happened because I hadn’t told him about the old man in time…

 

We took the steps three at a time, and finally reached the top, Gawain and Galahad circling with Arthur, watching his back and side as the old man whirled and spun like a top with his swords.

 

“Fuck,” Bors said, “he’s got two.”

 

“Yes,” I grinned, “but so have I.”

 

I drew my swords, the metallic zing! sound they made one of the best sounds in the world.

 

“Bors,” I yelled, “watch my back.”

 

“Like always,” he sighed, and drew his huge daggers that had the punching knuckles built into them. I had no idea what he thought he would make contact with, but I was more than okay with his enthusiasm.

 

“Lancelot – get down! There’s nothing you can do,” Arthur shouted, trying to warn me. I shook my head.

 

“No, Arthur, that’s where you’re wrong,” I answered, advancing. The magus turned at Arthur’s words, facing me.

 

“I have no fight with you, child,” the magus said, in a strangely cracked voice. It sounded as if he were speaking as two people.

 

“But I have one with you,” I replied, and kept on edging closer, my blades held crossed in front of me.

 

“You’ve killed innocents,” I added, trying to distract him as I moved, “and butchered an entire village. And most importantly, you’re threatening my commander. Now leave off, and I might consider killing you quickly.”

 

He spoke again in that strange twin voice. “My only greivance is with the Romans. You men are no threat to me. Drop your weapons and I will let you live.”

 

He gestured to the fallen infantry men and up to Arthur. “These dogs are mine. Give them to me, as I deserve.”

 

“I’ll admit, the Romans aren’t my favorite people,” I kept talking as I attempted to get closer to the old man, “but I can’t let you hurt more blameless people. Leave here with no more blood shed. Do you want all these deaths on your conscience?”

 

He laughed, and I could swear I saw his eyes turn red.

 

“Blameless? These people who conquered my home, who ripped you from your family as a child to serve as fodder in their great army? Surely, Sarmatian knight, you wish to be free of them.”

 

“I will be. But in my time, and on my own terms,” I said, and launched myself at him as he was thinking of a response.

 

Arthur shouted my name, and Tristan began to fire arrows even more rapidly from the ground as I slashed at the magus, who deflected me easily.

 

“For one so old, you move well,” I huffed, slightly angry at his skill. I ducked under his sword arm, and brought my own up to deflect his other weapon, which had been aimed straight at my heart.

 

“I am only as old as my lady desires,” he answered cryptically, and suddenly dropped one of his blades, reaching out the hand as he did so.

 

He caught the two arrows that Tristan had just fired at him, reversed them in his palm, and threw them back. It was as if they were shot from a bow – and Dagonet, who was with Tristan, yelped as one of them grazed his arm.

 

To their credit, the two men kept on firing.

 

I bared my teeth at the man, and whirled my swords in an circle, daring him to try that trick with me.

 

“See, now you’ve made it worse. Don’t attack any more of my friends. You’ll be dying slowly, demon.”

 

I rushed forward, and as he leant in to try and run me through, I flipped over him, using his back as a springboard to propel me to my feet.

 

I turned fast as lightning and thrust first one, then both swords home.

 

Blood poured from the wounds in a crimson wave, and he grasped weakly at the hilts of the weapons.

 

I stayed in my battle stance, having jerked the small knife in my boot out, ready to defend Arthur to my death, who was all of a sudden next to me, Excalibur singing in my ear as he held it high, waiting with me.

 

The old magus looked up from the swords sticking out of his chest, and the words he spoke sent a chill through my heart.

 

“I will see you again. Sooner than you think,” he rasped, pointing at me.

 

Then Arthur and I jumped as he exploded. Literally. Into tiny bits and pieces of old man, gore coating the two of us.

 

My blades clattered to the stone walkway, and I rushed to pick them up, should I need them again.

 

The reddish white mist was gone. Not even a trace of it left. And down below, the bespelled infantry men were slowly waking, mumbling about too much wine and scrubbing at the marks on their foreheads.

 

“Great Mithras,” I whispered, reverting to memories of old gods as the thick stuff dripped down my face and splatted onto the ground.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

I turned to face Arthur, and nodded my head, running one hand over his shoulders and torso, checking for wounds.

 

“I’m fine, Lancelot,” he said, smiling through the red on his face.

 

“What do you think he meant? I’ll see you again,” I said, body still crawling from the sound of that voice speaking those words. I wasn’t scared by much – but after all the bodies and the blood and the horrid Kali statues, I was ready to never think of that man again, much less have to worry about seeing him in future.

 

“I don’t know,” he answered, sheathing Excalibur and looking around, checking to make sure the rest of our men were unharmed, “but I can guarantee you if Rome or this garrison gets wind of any more murders or idolatry…the perpetrator will be very sorry.”

 

He clapped me on the shoulder, smiling brightly. “I will watch your back,” he said quietly. “On that you can depend.”

 

I laughed, releasing some of the built up tension that had been there since I had seen Arthur being threatened. “I’m not sure if that makes me feel any better, Arthur, considering I’m the one who usually watches yours.”

 

I expected him to smile, or to make a joke. He merely looked at me, then raised his hand from my shoulder to cup my cheek for a mere second, then turned and made his way to Gawain and Galahad, who were staring at us, and the blood coating our armor.

 

Bors, Dag and Tristan had joined them on top of the battlements. Bors was grumbling about not having got in even one hit, and Dagonet was quietly binding a piece of his shirt around his sliced arm. I looked at it, pronounced it not fatal, and smirked at the others.

 

“What did I tell you? No one gets the best of me twice without paying for it.”

 

The two G’s looked at each other, then rolled their eyes in unison. Typical.

 

“Arthur,” I said abruptly, “did you find the missing Senator?”

 

Arthur’s face shuttered, and I knew he had – unfortunately not in the condition he had hoped.

 

“Yes,” was all he said, and I didn’t press him.

 

We all trooped down the stairs, wading through waking soldiers, Arthur brushing past the ones who asked him questions.

 

“Not now,” I told them, “tomorrow.”

 

I would always watch his back.


	8. Chapter 8

The night was chilly and cloudless.

 

Thank the gods. I would be happy if I never saw any type of fog, clouds, or mist again.

 

I peeked through the open door of the chapel, and watched as Arthur remained on his knees, lips moving silently.

 

I knew he was trying to reconcile what we had seen with his own beliefs…so I didn’t disturb him.

 

I was having my own problems in accepting what we had experienced.

 

I turned from the door, and made my way to the little cemetary, stopping to crouch by the swordless grave of Arthur’s father.

 

“You have a good son,” I said at last. “Be proud of him.”

 

I murmured a prayer to Mithras, the soldier’s god, to watch over Uther’s spirit, and that of his only child.

 

I stood, and thought on the few things that had come to light in the last few weeks.

 

The village of Tore? No people. Completely empty. No bodies, no blood, nothing found.

 

Just a ghost town, things left as if the people who lived there expected to return shortly. Food still on the tables, toys left out, chickens and horses left in their yards.

 

Our missing trebuchet turned up in the small river to the south a day later, broken and burned. Dag’s axes? No sign.

 

Almost too strange and disturbing to contemplate.

 

The mist and the old man – not seen again. At least not yet.

 

I would be ready for him, if he dared show his face near Arthur or me again.

 

Rome was sending someone to investigate our claims further, and to retrieve the body of the slain Senator and his family. I was truly sorry for the deaths of his wife and daughter. Him … not as much.

 

I didn’t voice this to Arthur, but had merely nodded my head when he had filled in me in on what Rome was doing.

 

Arthur was still not satisfied in reference to the missing people, and especially the three brothers we had met in the village. I knew he wouldn’t be letting this drop anytime soon.

 

For now, however, I was content, if not happy, to go on regular patrols and continue practice drills.

 

I shivered slightly in the brisk British wind, and turned to go back to the garrison.

 

“Lancelot,” Arthur called softly, and I turned to face him.

 

“Arthur,” I answered, tipping my head toward him.

 

We stood still a moment, simply contemplating each other.

 

He looked away at last, staring at the unmarked grave in front of us.

 

“He died so long ago, I can barely remember him,” Arthur whispered, and I moved to stand next to him, my shoulder touching his.

 

“He would be proud to call you his, Arthur,” I answered.

 

“When you were in my rooms, recently,” Arthur stated, and I met his eyes, remembering the time he was speaking of. The time when he had trembled in my arms for an entire night, when I had only held him silently as he had slept a troubled, light sleep.

 

“Yes,” I said.

 

“That was the date of my mother’s death,” he told me, and I shut my eyes. 

 

“Why on earth didn’t you tell me?” I replied at last, taking his hand.

 

He shrugged. “We had so many things going on. I didn’t want to burden you.”

 

“Arthur,” I laughed suddenly, “I want you to burden me. I want you to trust me with anything. What do I have to do to make you believe that?”

 

He smiled ruefully. “I will have to take your word for it.”

 

I nodded emphatically. “Yes. Otherwise… I do have need of a new practice target.”

 

His grin got broader, and I tugged on his hand.

 

“Come on, commander, I think the other men are waiting to ply you with drink. We shouldn’t disappoint them.”

 

We walked back to the garrison proper, comfortable together, not needing to speak.

 

*

 

I woke in the dead of night, the warmth of Arthur against me gone.

 

I called his name softly, and sat up, running a hand through my hair, the sheet pooling around my waist.

 

“Here,” he answered, and I moved from the bed, my bare feet scraping on the stone floor. I pulled on my discarded trousers, and stumbled sleepily to where he was standing, staring out the window and worrying his lower lip.

 

I took his face in my hands, and tugged on his lips with my own.

 

“Shouldn’t you let me do that?” I whispered, joking lightly.

 

He kissed me back distractedly, but still kept staring outside.

 

“Arthur?” I queried, and he swung around to look at me.

 

“What is it?” I added.

 

“I have to wonder just what the future holds for us,” he answered. I cocked my head. 

 

“A lot more patrols, some skirmishes with Woads, and perhaps a trip home, finally,” I answered. He didn’t smile.

 

“Arthur,” I sighed, cupping his cheek with my hand, “what is done is done. Gods know I’d love to know what’s coming…but I don’t. So, I just go on, and hope for the best. Whatever fate brings to us – I’ll accept it, because I’m at your side. And that’s all that matters.”

 

His green eyes met mine, and he raised his hand to cover mine.

 

“How do you do that?”

 

“Do what?” I asked, perplexed.

 

“Drive away all of my worries with only a few sentences.”

 

“Pure genius,” I shrugged, and he cuffed me on the ear. I smiled cheekily, and pulled on his hand.

 

“Back to bed, Arthur, before I think of something else to teach you,” I whispered, and he smiled a tiny smile that lit a fire in my whole being.

 

I knew in that moment that I would die for him. 

 

Not so much as just a concept of my devotion, but rather, I would actually bleed my last to keep him from doing the same. I pressed down a shiver, and smiled at him.

 

He walked me backwards, his lips plying mine softly at first, then with more insistance. I sighed, and fell over when my knees hit the bed. He leant over me, his hands on either side of my head, his intense gaze boring into mine.

 

“Whatever the future holds,” he said finally, his body’s weight on mine causing me to move my legs to wrap around his calves, “if you’re with me, I don’t care if I never find out.”

 

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” I answered him.

 

Arthur let his elbows drop, and he rested on me, his hands burying themselves in my hair, his mouth brushing mine leisurely.

 

He dipped his head, and planted a line of hot kisses along the column of my throat, dragging a groan out of my mouth slowly.

 

A most pleasant way to spend a cold night.

 

Memories of evil old men and bloody corpses floated away on the crisp air, and my last thought before becoming incoherent with desire, was that this man currently pressing his long, broad body against mine had no need to talk of worries of the future.

 

He was destined for great things, even if he didn’t know it.

 

I was damned if I would miss even a moment of it.


End file.
